Soul Crushing
by Gypsy Love
Summary: Craig is in 10th grade and still living with his father, the changes that may have taken place in Craig's personality and behavior if he never moved in with Joey.
1. Chapter 1

Craig Manning was breathing fast, his heart beating so hard that he thought it might just stop, and he wished it would. The school had called his father because he skipped class-again. When he skipped he knew the school would probably call his father and that that would result in this. The yelling. The anger. The twisted expression, the raised fist. But at the time he didn't care because he hated school. He was all about immediate gratification these days.

"Craig, what in the hell are you thinking?" Albert said, teeth clenched, fist wrapped around his belt. Craig licked his lips and didn't answer. Any answer he gave wouldn't matter. But his father continued.

"You're in 10th grade, you can't skip class. Your marks are, they are of utmost importance,"

He thought about that. He didn't give a shit about his marks. It didn't matter. He was flunking out of most of his classes anyway. There was the very real possibility that he would have to repeat 10th grade. So he just waited for his father to hit him with the belt in his hand, waited as his heart tried to beat right out of his chest.

And when it came, that familiar sting of the strap, the hard leather cutting across his back, he didn't even care. He was almost glad it had started because that meant soon it would be over.

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He went to school because his father forced him to and he didn't dare disobey. He went. That didn't mean he stayed there. The sun was bright in the morning and hurt his eyes, and he squinted against it as he walked toward Sean and Jay.

"Craig, hey, man, what's up?" Sean said, slapping him on the back. For some reason Sean usually ended up aggravating his injuries. He sucked in his breath and tried not to wince as Sean's hand came down on his back.

"Uh, nothing," he said, and he heard the funny hurt tone to his voice. He looked at Sean and Jay. They didn't appear to have noticed.

"Jesus, you look like shit," Jay pointed out, and Craig nodded in agreement. Jay was right. He did look like shit. He felt like shit. He'd barely gotten any sleep last night, he hadn't eaten anything for days. He was running on fumes. His father expected him to care about his marks? He could just laugh.

He watched as the popular kids glided by in their little pack. The popular, polished, smart, together kids. Paige. Marco. Jimmy. Ashley. He looked down as they walked by. He knew they would have nothing to do with him.

"Forget it, man," Jay said, following his gaze.

"What?" Craig said sharply, his brow furrowed.

"That chick you were staring at. Ashley. Forget it. She's way out of your league,"

He sighed. As usual, Jay was right.

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"Craig, go to the office," Simpson said the minute he saw him. Craig just stood there looking at him dully. What had he done now? Why was Simpson always on his back? He didn't treat the other kids that way. Only him and Sean and Jay. It sucked. It was unfair.

"Why?" he said, defiant. His hands were clenched in fists. He wanted to punch him, kick him. His anger was there like it usually was, fierce and out of the blue.

"Just go!" Simpson said, stepping toward him. Craig itched to punch him, to punch someone. But he just stared at him a second longer and turned and walked away. In the hallway he thought of just walking right out of the school. Fuck this. He didn't need this. Was Raditch going to lecture him about something? About skipping school? About flunking out? Well, what did they expect? He was a screw up, a fuck up, he couldn't do anything right so what was the big deal?

But he didn't leave. His body still ached from the belt last night and he didn't want his father to get angry with him again. He went to the office, his fear and anxiety overpowering the anger. Maybe they'd called his dad, maybe he was there in the office waiting for him. Maybe he'd been suspended for something, for the bottle of wild turkey in his locker, for smoking pot in the boys' bathroom, for skipping so many classes. Maybe his father was going to take him home and give him the beating he'd never forget. By the time he reached the office he could hardly breathe.

"Craig," It was Ms. Souve, her voice calm and nice. He tried to breathe through his fear. Maybe she wanted to see him.

"Yeah?" he said, feeling dizzy. Maybe not. He glanced around for his father, didn't see him. God, he was a surgeon for god's sake, he couldn't just leave someone's cut open guts to come and pick him up.

"Come into my office," she said, and he followed her to the little room filled with all the green hanging plants and sand trays and glass knick knacks. He sat down in the leather chair and looked at the sun reflecting through the glass of the little animals and figurines she had all around.

"Craig, is anything wrong?" she said in her nice calm way. He just stared at her. She asked him again, but patiently. He closed his eyes and then opened them slowly.

"No," he said.

She looked at him. What did she see? The dark circles under his eyes? The weight loss? The long messy hair, the ill fitting clothes? He didn't care. He didn't care how his clothes looked or how his hair looked or that even when he did eat he could hardly keep anything down.

"Things aren't going too well for you," she said, and the hint of sadness in her voice made him want to cry. Almost. He didn't cry anymore. He was all cried out.

"You're going to have to repeat 10th grade. There's no way around it. But all of your teachers say you're not working up to your potential. They say you fall asleep in class, if you're there at all. They say you're having anger management issues,"

He sucked in his breath. Repeating 10th grade. His father was going to kill him. Kill him. He licked his lips, already feeling his dad's rough hands around his wrists, his sharp kicks to his ribs.

"Craig, you're a bright kid. Your teachers are worried about you, and so am I. Is there anything you want to talk about?" Her voice was so kind, so nonjudgmental. It almost reminded him of his mother's voice. And it trembled there for a second, telling her. Telling her how scared and hurt he was all the time, how he couldn't concentrate in class and so it was easier to just not be there. How the only time he felt halfway normal was if he was drunk, or high. But he couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell anyone. His dad wouldn't let him. And it was all his fault anyway, he made his dad angry. He deserved it. He deserved to be hit because he was worthless. It wouldn't make a difference.

"No," he said, and gripped the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. He couldn't tell anyone anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Ms. Souve told him he could come and talk to her anytime, if he needed to talk. He had nodded, knowing he wouldn't. There was nothing to talk about, nothing he could say.

On his way back to homeroom the first bell rang and everyone spilled out of their homerooms. Craig tensed up in the crowd, feeling people jostle against him. Head down, he headed toward his locker, wanting to just leave since he was flunking out of 10th grade anyway. What was the point now? But he didn't want the school to call his dad again.

"Hey, watch it!" Jimmy Brooks said as he walked right into him. Craig jumped back, head down, eyes looking up at Jimmy.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and Jimmy just shook his head in disgust, and Craig could have sworn he heard him say loser under his breath as he walked away.

At his locker he rummaged through for his books for English, books he has barely opened all year. He closed his locker to reveal Jay standing there, a shit eating grin on his face.

"Raditch bitch you out?" he said, the smile widening. Craig scowled, not understanding Jay's pleasure in the misfortune of others.

"No," he said, shifting the books in his arms, "it was Suave. She wanted to talk,"

"About what?" Jay said, falling into step with him as he headed to his first class, "your tragic childhood?"

"Something like that," Craig said, looking to the side. He saw Ashley walking with Ellie, and she smiled at something Ellie said. He wished that just once she'd smile at him. All he'd ever gotten from her was a look of pity and faint disgust.

"Let's take off, man," Jay suggested, and Craig wanted nothing more than to take off, to sip Jack Daniels or rum or beer in the woods, to take a few hits of the joint Jay had with him. To forget about all the shit for awhile.

"I can't," he said.

"C'mon," Jay said, trying to steer him toward the doors. Craig shrugged out of his grasp.

"No, I can't. The school called my dad about me skipping and he's getting pissed…"

"So? What's he gonna do? Take away your birthday?"

Craig shrugged. Why not? He'd already taken away everything else.

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"You're late," Ms. Kwan said, glaring at him from under a sheath of shiny black hair.

"Yeah, but I was-"

"Craig! I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm not interested in your excuses. Just see me after school,"

He scowled, swallowed hard. Every teacher gave him such a hard time. No one ever gave him a break, ever.

"Just for being late? But I was at the office-"

"I don't care where you were. I do not tolerate tardiness in my classes. If you want to keep arguing you can go back to the office,"

He narrowed his eyes at her, feeling his temper slip away from him. He wanted to kick the chair that was right near him. The anger was like electricity in his blood stream, burning through his cells.

"But that isn't fair-"

"Go to the office," she told him, and he could feel the eyes of his classmates crawling all over him, and he knew what they were thinking. He knew they were thinking he was pathetic, just a dumb stoner who wouldn't amount to anything. And he couldn't help but glance over at Ashley, her blue eyes on him.

"Now," Kwan said, and he turned and left the classroom.

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The halls were empty now, everyone where they were supposed to be. He kicked a locker, hearing the echoing sound. Fuck her, he wasn't late on purpose, it wasn't his fault. He should just leave now, find Jay and start drinking. But he didn't want his dad getting mad again, the lashes with the leather belt still too fresh in his mind.

He went into the office, told the secretary Kwan had sent him. She looked at him as though he were interrupting her, tucked a pencil behind her ear.

"Have a seat. I'll let Mr. Raditch know you're here,"

He sighed, sat down, his legs stretched out in front of him. This just so completely sucked. He'd probably end up with a detention or a string of them and they'd probably call his father. Probably. Maybe he could ask Raditch not to. Maybe he could beg him not to.

"Craig," Raditch stuck his head out of his office door to say his name. Craig stood up and went into the office. He probably held the record for being sent here. He sat in his accustomed black leather chair near the door. Raditch took his accustomed place behind his desk.

"Mr. Manning," he said, looking at him with annoyance, "you've been sent to my office again. For being late. Again. I'm getting very tired of dealing with you,"

Craig shifted in his chair, tried not to roll his eyes.

"Look, Mr. Raditch, it wasn't my fault-"

"It's never your fault, is it?" Raditch said, interrupting him.

"Yeah, but Mr. Raditch-"

"No buts, Craig. You were late. You talked back to Ms. Kwan. This is a place of education. There are rules. You need to start following those rules. I don't understand why it is you think there should be special rules for you,"

"I don't! I don't think that! It's just it isn't fair! I wasn't late because, because of shit I did, Jesus!"

There was no more controlling his temper. His anger. He'd been controlling it all day and it was just slipping away from him, like the vicious dog on a fraying leash. He couldn't hold onto it anymore. He stood up fast and kicked the chair over, reached for the dumb paperweight he always saw on Raditch's desk and hurled it at the wall.

Raditch stood up, his annoyance changed to anger and a tiny bit of fear.

"Craig! If you don't stop now I will call the police and you will be arrested. Pick up the chair and sit down," Raditch's tone was steel. There would be no arguing. The tone was too similar to how his dad sounded when he was mad at him. It made Craig feel cold. He righted the chair he had overturned and sat down, looking at Raditch with wide eyes.

"Good. Now you will sit there and not move a muscle as I call your father to come and get you. You're suspended,"

Craig felt light headed, fuck, fuck. He was gonna call his dad and then he'd be so mad, so mad at him. Damn it.

"Mr. Raditch, no, my dad's in surgery, he can't come and get me. Please don't call him, please," Craig could hear the sound of tears in his voice. The embarrassing tone of pleading that had got in and wouldn't get out.

Raditch just looked at him, not caring, not seeing. Craig's hazel/brown eyes were wide with fear, his breathing fast and shallow.

"If he can't come and get you then you can remain in my office for the rest of the day, doing school work. But rest assured, I am going to call him,"

Craig looked down at his sneakers, resigned. Defeated. His father was just going to kill him. There was nothing he could do to stop it, so what did it matter? He listened as Raditch dialed the numbers to his father's cell phone. What was the chance he was in surgery right now? Craig shook his head, bit the nail of his index finger. He had no idea if he was in surgery or not. No idea.

"Hello, Mr. Manning?" Raditch said, and faintly Craig could hear his father's voice on the line. Fuck, Craig thought, fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. This was all temporary, the school, sitting in the office waiting. Seeing the secretary come in and ask if everything was okay, and hearing Raditch's terse reply that things were fine. None of that mattered because his father was on his way to get him.

It was like one of those sets for a play, just made of paper and cardboard. This wasn't real. His father's faint voice on the phone was real, the image of his father getting in his car and driving to the school, that was real. Craig sucked in his breathe, dimly aware that Raditch was talking to him but he could barely hear him. He was distant. His words didn't matter.

He licked his lips, bounced his legs up and down. There was nothing he could do about this nervous feeling. He wished he'd taken off with Jay when he suggested it. But no. He'd tried to stay out of trouble and ended up worse off than before.

Out the window in Raditch's office he saw his father's car pull up. Shiny new car gliding into a parking spot. He watched his father park the car, open the door, step out. He wore his work suit, tailored and perfect. His glasses were dark, they tinted in the sun. He adjusted his tie. Craig swallowed hard, watching him. Watching the sun gleam off the fine silk of the tie, off his dark glasses, off of the high gloss of the car.

Craig turned away from the window, tried to steal himself for it, for all the trouble that was awaiting him. Shit, how did this happen?

"Dr. Manning," Raditch said, and he was by the secretary's desk. Craig still sat in his office, his breathing fast and shallow and he felt dizzy, felt like if he stood he'd just fall.

"Mr. Raditch," his father said, that smooth professional tone with the steel inside of it. No one argued with his father. He ran his department at the hospital and he ran things at home and if Raditch thought he was calling the shots, well, he was mistaken. Craig knew he was mistaken.

"Come into my office," Raditch said, and he could hear them walking, heard their footsteps on the floor. His eyes were closed. He was trying to breath normally so he wouldn't pass out.

"Craig," his father said to him, and he opened his eyes. There was the promise of trouble in the way he said his name, a 'we'll deal with this later' quality. Raditch laid it out for him, his three day suspension, how he was late to class and talked back to Kwan and kicked the chair and threw the paper weight. Then he mentioned him staying back in 10th grade. His father shot him a look, and for a second Craig could not breath.

"Held back? Surely there is the option of summer school?" his father said in that reasonable, don't you dare argue with me tone that even Raditch responded to.

"Perhaps," Raditch said, non- commitment-ly, a verbal shrug. Summer school. Even if it wasn't an option his dad could make it one, and maybe he wouldn't have to repeat the grade. Dim hope. Then he remembered how he fucking hated school. He hated his classes and hated Jimmy Brooks and all the kids like him, hated that Ashley would barely even look at him and when she did it was only with pity. What good would summer school do at this point?

"Can he get his books before we leave?" His father said, and Craig hung his head. His fucking books? What was he going to do, study with him?

Raditch thought about it, considering things. Craig watched him, hoping he'd say no. He didn't want his books, he didn't want to have to read the chapters he was supposed to have read months ago, he didn't want to answer the questions his father would devise. Why couldn't he just leave him alone?

"I'll go with him," Raditch said, and Craig saw that that was what he was considering. He didn't even trust him to go to his stupid locker alone.

"I'll wait here," his father said, folding his arms, looking impatient. So he got up and went with Raditch to his locker, not saying anything. But Raditch did.

"Craig, you are on the wrong path. You need to start making the right decisions. You need to start considering your future. You need to take a good look at your behavior, at who you hang out with, at responsibilities you choose to ignore,"

"Yeah," Craig said, tired of people telling him what a fuck up he was. Didn't they understand that he knew? But he couldn't change. He was incapable of it.

He twisted the lock, landing on the numbers of the combination and opened the locker, took all the books. They were heavy. The weight of the world.


	4. Chapter 4

Following his father outside to the car, and his silence was ominous. He hadn't said a word. Craig balanced his books in his arms, the stacks of books. Home for three days. A vacation. And suddenly he was jealous of Jay and Sean, because for them a three day suspension would be a vacation. Not him. For him it was a field in Vietnam filled with landmines.

The new car smell and the vanilla air conditioner in the shape of a pine tree, those smells filled his nose as the car started for home, his father's eyes on the road. It was too short a distance between the school and his house. Too short by far.

He remembered when he used to think about running away, about the times he's tried it. He hadn't thought of it in awhile. It hadn't worked out so well. He'd just been brought right back and to deeper trouble. But nothing was working. Trying to stay out of trouble had failed abysmally. Trying to stuff down his emotions with pot and alcohol hadn't worked that great, either. Craig leaned his head against the window, felt the cool glass against his cheek.

His house came into view, the expanse of emerald green lawn, the long curving driveway. He knew Jay and Sean envied his father's wealth, envied the nice house he lived in and the nice things he had. It came at a price. Nothing was free.

Inside the house Craig set his books on the table carefully, as though they were fragile as eggshells. He watched his father carefully. He adjusted his tie, slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was upset with him, Craig could tell, but he wasn't out of control. Not yet.

"I can not believe this, Craig. Failing school, getting suspended…I cannot believe it,"

Craig hung his head, felt tears coming to his eyes. He'd never felt so much like a failure. He'd always done well in school, until recently. Until this year. He just couldn't hold it together this year.

"I have to return to work, I don't have time to babysit you," he said, and Craig stood still, watching for the telltale signs that his father's anger was getting out of control. The narrowed eyes, the sarcastic questions, the clenched teeth. He didn't see any of that.

"While I am at work today you will open that math book and do what you should have been doing all year. When I come home I expect that you will have completed at least ten lessons-"

"Ten!" Craig said, not caring if he made him more angry in that instant. He didn't want to spend all day staring at that stupid math book.

"Yes, ten! It should be 20! I can not believe your nerve! Goddamnit Craig you are not going to fail this year of school. Ten lessons. And don't you dare disobey me again,"

Craig moved away from him instinctively and nodded. Looked down. Watched from the corner of his eye as his father gathered his stuff and left for work.

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Sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the math book, the headache developing behind his eyes. He hated this, he had no interest in it, he couldn't concentrate on it. Ten lessons? He couldn't even finish one.

"Fuck this," he said, and shoved the book off the table. It landed on the floor with a satisfying thump. He watched his work paper lazily seesaw down after it and land gently on top of the textbook. Fuck this. He didn't want to do this, he didn't give a shit what his father said to do or what he expected him to do.

He could feel the fading bruises on his arms and legs, he could feel the places where the belt had lashed his back. It would happen again. He'd given up any sort of hope that his father would change. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he did this stupid math stuff he had told him to do. Maybe. He reached down and picked up the paper and the textbook, set them on the table in front of him. Despite the headache that pulsed and pounded behind his eyes he forced himself to read the book and to answer the questions. He forced it. One problem at a time.


	5. Chapter 5

"Manning, you are too much," Jay and Sean stood outside his door. His math text book sat open on the kitchen table. Ten lessons. He'd finished two.

Craig hung in the doorway, not wanting to let them in because he wasn't sure when his father would get home. He'd been told repeatedly that he couldn't hang out with Jay and Sean.

"Jesus, throwing Raditch's chair? His favorite paperweight? You have got balls," This was all Jay commentary. Sean was silent next to him.

"Yeah, well, he was pissing me off," Craig said, glancing back at his open book on the table. He pressed his lips together, trying to think of how he could tell them to leave without sounding like a jerk.

Jay laughed, his head back, the evil gleam in his eyes. Sean didn't. Sometimes Craig thought Sean could see the bruises through his long sleeve shirts.

"Look, guys, you better go…" He looked down. This just completely sucked. He glanced at them, Jay still looked amused. Sean looked almost sad.

"Yeah, I know, you're in a shit load of trouble. Can't let your old man catch us here," Jay said, and Sean looked at him with this almost knowing look, like he knew what was up. Craig almost couldn't look at him.

"Uh, yeah," Craig said thickly, and watched them walk down the driveway.

Back to the school work awaiting him at the kitchen table. He felt the headache returning just looking at it. He couldn't do it. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't think. He covered his eyes with his hands and groaned.

He hadn't gotten much further on it when Albert returned, and Craig shut the book fast and stood up, the legs of the chair scraping the floor with that sound.

"Uh, hi, dad," he said.

"Hi. Did you finish your school work?" The intense stare behind the black frame glasses. Craig felt pinned beneath it.

"Uh, yeah. I did," Lying, and not so convincingly this time.

"Let's see it," That was it. Craig felt the air lose its oxygen. Nowhere to go, no excuses left.

Slowly he opened the math book and took out the paper on which he had completed three lessons. He took a deep breath and handed it over. Watched as his father scanned it, watched as the anger formed in his eyes like a storm on the horizon.

"Three lessons? That's hardly anything. Craig. I thought I told you-"

Craig closed his eyes as Albert grabbed him, his arm twisted almost out of its socket. Albert asked fast angry questions like what had he been thinking, what had he been doing? He asked these things as he kicked him, punched him, and Craig honestly didn't know what he had been thinking anymore.

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The kitchen floor felt cool and nice. At first that's all Craig was aware of, the cool floor against his aching body. Then he felt the pull in his side every time he breathed in. Then he felt the tears that had dried on his cheeks. He hated his father. Hated him.


	6. Chapter 6

His dad had been on the phone with the school, pulling the strings that would allow him to go to summer school, make up work before the end of the year, and go to grade 11. Craig sat at the kitchen table, his head leaning against his hand while his father spoke to Raditch and whoever else. He really had to admire him, the 'won't take no' plow full steam ahead determination.

He felt every ache from yesterday's beating. His body never got used to it. It seemed to be getting worse. His pain threshold was dropping. Even the material of his clothes against the bruises was too much to bear.

"You're going to talk to every one of your teachers and get a schedule of make-up work to complete," Albert said, hanging up the phone. Craig looked up at him, his head still leaning against his hand.

"You're going to complete every assignment that they give you, and you'll still have to attend summer school. Craig, what is going on? You've never done so poorly in school," The tone of pity in his father's voice made him cringe. Fake concern. Fake pity. He didn't give a shit. Craig narrowed his eyes at him, at the deep concern that was in his face and eyes and he knew that it wasn't fake. He shook his head. His father should know what was wrong with him, he told him all the time. He was a fuck-up.

Upstairs in his room, thinking about how he only had one more day of this suspension to go. One more day of being trapped in this house. He laid on his bed, the T.V. on but unwatched. How could he possibly do this? He skipped school all the time. He took off with Sean and Jay and drank whiskey in the woods, smoked pot in Sean's backyard. He didn't give a shit about school, not anymore. What would change? Nothing.

It was late, the darkness seeming to press against the windows. His eye fell on his camera perched on the edge of his dresser, the lens pointed disinterestedly away from him. Taking pictures. That was the only thing he had left. It was the only thing that could take him outside of himself. His only escape.

He lifted himself up from the bed, feeling the protesting ache of his arms and stomach and ribs where the kicks and punches had been worst. He'd spent some time looking at those bruises in the mirror, at the black and purple that would fade to the sickly yellows and greens. Trying to convince himself that it was real.

He could imagine sometimes breaking down in Suave's office, showing her his arms and stomach and back, telling her he had to leave his house but didn't know how, couldn't leave but that he was _dying_ there. What would happen? Would his dad go to jail? Would they haul him off to some foster home that was a worse hell than the one he was leaving? There were no good choices.

It was late. His dad was downstairs, he knew. Watching T.V. Reading medical journals. Writing papers on some new surgical technique. Whatever he was doing. Craig took his pillows and arranged them under his blankets in such a way that he appeared to be sleeping there. And if his father investigated further and saw it wasn't him then oh well. It wouldn't change anything, anyway. He grabbed his camera and his jacket, eased open his window and climbed out onto the roof and down to the ground. He had to get out of that house for awhile.

He snapped pictures, framing things just so, catching people as they left restaurants and night clubs. Losing himself in the process. Feeling almost better for once. Not caring if his father noticed he was gone or not. He could go screw.

He thought of going to see either Jay or Sean but decided not to. If his dad hadn't noticed he was gone he could sneak back in and everything would be fine, relatively. If he ended up hanging out with anyone he'd come home drunk or high and his dad would have a fit.

Heading home, the dread gathering inside of him like it always did. His nerves were shot. He could feel his heart beating. He thought he might have a heart attack by the time he reached 17 at this rate. Bright lights hurt his eyes and he saw that he was walking past Joey's car lot. Joey Jeremiah, his step-father. Weird. And he was there, this late, Craig saw him in the office on the phone. Saw him look out the window and squint his eyes, saw the recognition in them even from the street.

"Craig!" Joey called, coming down the steps from his office. Craig ducked his head.

"Craig?" He was walking toward him, and Craig just stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Uh, hi, Joey,"


	7. Chapter 7

Fear trip-hammering in his chest, and he knew it wasn't his heart beat. It was just fear. _This is stupid, _he thought, _it's just Joey._ But he knew it wasn't. He knew it wasn't Joey he was afraid of. It was his father. It was the memory of that beating from last year when he had seen Joey and Angela, when he had made that photo album with them in it, when he tried to run away. It was the ghost of the ache in his healed broken bones, the fact that a golf club hurt much worse than a belt.

Joey. He remembered what it was like being at his house when his mother was still alive, when he still had someone to go to when things were bad. Things were so much easier when she was still alive. Now he had nowhere to go.

"Craig, how are you?" Joey said, squinting at him in that concerned way he had, and Craig felt like he could almost read his mind. Joey was thinking, 'why are you out so late?' and 'how come you live in Toronto and me and Angela never see you?'

"G-good," he stammered, looking down, wanting to get away. He knew Joey would tell his father he had seen him, he'd call him, he'd tell him. Craig knew it. He couldn't ask him not to without sounding…weird. Suspicious.

He looked at Joey from the corner of his eye. He remembered the way he would joke and laugh with his mother and with him. He remembered how much happier she had been with Joey. He licked his lips. It didn't matter. He'd had to let them go. Him and Angela. He couldn't have them. His father had made sure of that.

"Listen, would you like to-"

"I gotta go," Craig said, cutting him off. Would he like to do what? He couldn't do anything.

"Oh, uh, okay. It was nice seeing you-"

"Yeah," Craig said, walking away, "it was nice seeing you, too, bye,"

He held onto his camera and he ran, trying to outrace the fear and the memories.

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He could climb up onto that roof and get back into his room, which he did, the camera slung over his shoulder by the strap. He was holding his breath, half expecting his father to be standing in the center of his room. His room was dark and the pillows he'd placed under his covers were just as he'd left them. He let out his breath, almost shaking in relief. Joey. Seeing Joey always upset him.

He undressed in the dark, leaving his clothes in a pile that he promised himself he'd clean up before his father saw. Albert's temper and reactions to things varied so widely that Craig never knew what to expect. The clothes on the floor, for example. He did that a lot, or used to. Sometimes Albert wouldn't notice. Sometimes he'd say, "clean that up," like a normal parent. Sometimes he'd shake him, pulling roughly on his shirt, his eyes narrowed to slits, "pick it up," he'd say and shake him.

He slipped under the covers, thinking about the last time he tried to run away. He'd been almost out the window, one leg up and over the window sill. But Albert had smashed through the door with the golf club and undid the locks that mattered, and he'd grabbed him before he could leave. Before he could get away for good.

He'd still been sore from the beating from the day before, and Albert had grabbed him and threw him to the floor and he felt like he could not breath, eyes wide. It was like one of those nightmares where you just can not move and he'd watched the club come down, flashing metal and his father's fist curled around it. At the last second he had moved out of the way but it still connected, hitting the top of his shoulders, his back, his arms. Curled up and pleading with Albert to stop, to just stop. His pleading voice coming through his hitching breath, and Albert wouldn't stop. Then he couldn't plead anymore, he could hardly speak, and he passed out from the pain.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're back," Sean said, and Craig nodded. They were sitting on the front steps, and Craig put his hand up to shade his eyes from the sun. He was supposed to go and talk to all his teachers today, get the make-up work. He didn't want to and didn't think he was going to.

"Look who's back!" Jay said, pushing into him playfully. Craig tensed up as Jay shoved him.

"Back from where?" Alex said, walking over to them. Craig noticed how shiny her black hair looked in the sun, how pretty she was despite her outlaw attitude. She slung her arm around Jay.

"Back from being suspended," Jay said, smiling, winking at him. Craig shook his head, his long curls falling in front of his eyes.

"What'd ya do?" Alex said, resting her head on Jay's shoulder. Craig felt a pang of jealousy. Jay had Alex. Sean had Amy, sometimes Emma. He could barely look at girls, never mind speak to them. Because he knew what they were thinking, like Ashley. Ashley, with her smoky blue eyes and dark lipstick and that smile. She thought he was hopeless, a loser. And she was right.

"He shoved Raditch into a wall," Jay said, deadpan. Alex's eyes widened and she looked at him with new admiration.

"You did?"

"No," he said, "I just threw a chair, and a paperweight," His head was down but he was looking up at her.

"Well, that's almost as good,"

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He was at his locker before the first class when he heard his name.

"Craig,"

He looked up. It was Ashley, she was leaning against the locker next to his. Her pretty eyes, her voice that always sounded like she was singing, musical somehow. Her dark nail polish on well shaped nails. Why was she talking to him?

"Yeah?"

"Where were you?" she said, her voice filled with an almost sympathy. He took a deep breath. He didn't want to tell her, it would reinforce her belief that he was worthless. A screw up. But she'd asked point blank. He didn't want to lie to her, for some reason. She was too good for that.

"I was suspended," he said, hoping she'd let it go. She just nodded, said 'oh' really softly, making him look down. Ellie walked by, stopped next to Ashley.

"Uh, hey, Craig," she said, and he felt Ellie's eyes on his messy curly hair, his ill-fitting clothes. He wanted to sink into the floor, crawl away.

"Hi," he said, and watched as Ellie took Ashley's arm and led her away. He watched them walk down the hall, thinking how strange it was Ashley had bothered to ask him where he was, that she'd noticed at all.

"Hey!" He hadn't heard Jimmy Brooks walk up next to him on the other side, he'd been too busy watching Ashley. He jumped.

"What?" he said, looking at Jimmy's narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. Just like his dad.

"Why are you talking to Ashley?" Jimmy demanded, getting closer to him. Challenging. Craig pulled into himself, his shoulders hunched up. He felt his breathing start to quicken.

"She talked to me-"

Jimmy shoved him, one quick rough shove, and Craig's shoulder banged into the locker door. That was the shoulder that had never quite healed right, maybe from the beating with the golf club. Maybe from the millions of times he'd been shoved and slammed into walls and hard cement floors. He winced as the pain shot from his shoulder to his back.

"Just leave her alone, got it?" Jimmy said, and Craig looked at his sneakers, rubbed his shoulder.

"Got it?" Jimmy said, his face inches away. Craig's hazel/brown eyes stared right into Jimmy's dark brown eyes.

"Yeah," Craig said softly, trying not to cry, "I got it,"


	9. Chapter 9

"Craig, what's wrong?" Sean said. They were headed to their first class. Craig was scowling, his hands balled into fists. He itched to punch something, or someone.

"That Jimmy Brooks," he said.

"Jimmy's an asshole," Sean said matter-of-factly, "what'd he do?"

"He told me not to talk to Ashley," Craig rubbed his sore shoulder.

"Screw him, man. He can't tell you who to talk to," Sean said, and Craig nodded. But the thing was he felt like Jimmy could tell him who to talk to, what to do, what not to do.

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At lunch he saw Ashley sitting alone, probably waiting for Ellie. He stood in the lunch line, his empty tray in his hands. The food behind the glass looked tasteless, warmed over. He never had much appetite anyway. He looked at Ashley, the way her head was bent down slightly, the angle of her neck. He could see the color of her eyes even from here. He wanted to talk to her. From the corner of his eye he saw Jimmy laughing with Spinner. Head down, he walked away.

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"Did you talk to all your teachers like daddy said?" Jay said. They were outside, hiding behind the dumpster. They were skipping. Jay handed him the freshly rolled joint and he lit it, took a hit and handed it to Jay.

"Shut up," he said after he exhaled the smoke in a smooth steady stream. The first hit didn't do anything but a few more would. He'd feel relaxed, floaty, outside himself. It was the best place to be.

"Look, don't get mad at me. He's your father and he's gonna save your butt from repeating grade ten. So Manning you'd better start talking to all the teachers like he said-"

"Jesus, Jay. Shut the fuck up,"

Jay laughed and took another hit.

"Whatever," Jay said, "it's your funeral,"

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After school. He felt guilty because he didn't talk to any of his teachers about the make up bullshit. He was mad because Jimmy was an asshole. He was mad because he didn't have the courage to talk to Ashley unless she came up to him and started talking first.

He was in a store looking at camera supplies, thinking he'd like to get some new stuff. It wouldn't be a problem. Albert always bought him whatever he wanted. He ran his finger over the row of cameras in the display aisle.

"Craig," He looked up at his name and saw Joey standing there. Joey. His bald head gleaming under the lights, the goatee making him look a little bit like a biker. Angela was next to him, looking at him shyly.

"Hi, Craig," she said in her little voice.

"Hi," he said, staring at her. She looked like his mother.

"Hey, how have you been?" Joey said, his voice filled with this concern that made Craig squirm.

"Okay. Uh, how about you?" He was looking everywhere but at Joey's face. His eyes grazed the top of Angela's head. Her dark curly hair was just like his mom's. He bit his lip. He felt like he'd forgotten all about her.


	10. Chapter 10

Dinner time. The land mine. His father had cooked and it was good. Juicy roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes. Every time his father cooked it was like a gourmet thanksgiving dinner. It tasted good and Craig chewed it dutifully, but he could feel his stomach cramping up.

"You talked to your teachers?" His father's questions, his calm and reasonable voice, that look on his face like he was a calm and reasonable man. Craig narrowed his eyes at him. Was he the only one who remembered getting hit with belts and golf clubs and being thrown against walls and kicked in the stomach?

"Yeah," He couldn't lie quite so convincingly anymore. He put another bite of roast beef into his mouth.

"Good," There was such a threatening edge to the word. Craig read a million things into it.

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"Hi," He was lying on his bed and talking into his sliver of a cell phone. He knew it was either Sean or Jay without looking at who was calling. They were the only ones who called him.

"Hey, man," It was Sean. Craig's room was dim, lit only by the glow of the T.V. He could see the shadow of his school books stacked on his desk. He had no desire to open any of them.

"What's up?" he said. Jay would call and just babble about nothing. When Sean called there was usually a reason.

"Hey, uh, you know Ashley?" Craig closed his eyes. He could picture her so perfectly in his mind. He could see her eyes looking at him, that amazing smoked blue.

"Yeah,"

"Well, she kinda likes you. You should talk to her tomorrow and ask her out," Sean was point blank. Craig swallowed, licked his lips, sat up.

"What? Ask her out? What about Jimmy?"

"Fuck Jimmy. He doesn't control her…or you. Look, she called me and told me to tell you this, to get you to talk to her. So do it,"

Craig smiled, the wide, almost innocent smile and thought about Ashley. She'd gone to the trouble to call Sean so he'd talk to her. And he couldn't have realized how long it had been since he'd smiled like that. A year. Maybe more.

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The library wasn't exactly quiet. More like hushed. Craig stood just outside the glass doors and scanned the room for Ashley. Then he saw her. He sucked in his breath, knowing he could still run. Why did the thought of just going over and talking to her make him feel so…weird? She'd called Sean about it. She wanted him to talk to her, to ask her out somewhere.

But the moment could somehow hold on, spinning away or stretching out like taffy while he listened to the hush and did nothing. Always paralyzed by fear and his conviction that he was worthless, and that he didn't deserve anything. He certainly didn't deserve anything like Ashley, a beautiful and smart girl who made him feel almost alive.

Closing his eyes, feeling a little dizzy. He'd go and talk to her. He would. His hands on the glass doors and he could feel the cold from the glass under his fingertips. He took the steps across the library like walking out across a mind field in war torn Asia, the strange shapes of the exotic trees twisting off in his peripheral vision. As he got near to her she glanced over, and he felt pinned in her gaze.

"Uh, hey, Ashley," he said.


	11. Chapter 11

"Craig," The pleasure in Ashley's voice was obvious, and Craig could feel the blush burning up his cheeks.

"Uh, what's up?" he said, his ears too full of the roar of his blood to properly hear her answer. This tortured small talk. He couldn't think. He could only focus on the small circle that she inhabited.

"Nothing. How have you been?" Her voice was soft and kind of lyrical, musical. Like singing without the melody.

"Okay. You know," He was scrambling to talk to her and to think of what he would say next, and he kind of felt like he was on some narrow beam over a white, choppy river. Any minute he could fall in and be chilled to the bone.

Silence. Just a beat of it. Now was the time to ask her out. He could hear Sean's words echoing in his head.

"Listen, Ashley, uh, do you want to do something Friday night, maybe?" He closed his eyes. This was stupid. Sean was wrong. She wasn't interested in him. She couldn't be. He was a loser. It was obvious to everyone from his father to Jimmy to his teachers…everyone. She pitied him at best.

"Yeah, sure. I'd love to,"

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"Did you talk to her?" Sean said, leaning over and lacing up his sneakers. They both sat on the wooden bench with the metal legs that was in front of the lockers in the locker room. Craig leaned over to tie his own sneakers. Gym class. He hated gym class because of the uniforms, shorts and a t-shirt. No way to hide any bruises.

"Uh, yeah," He smiled, thinking of Ashley talking to him, saying yes to going somewhere with him. It didn't seem quite real.

"And?" Sean said, looking at him. Craig ducked his head.

"And she said yes,"

"Told you," Sean said, and smiled a tight smile.

"Yeah. You did," Craig said, and followed Sean into the gym, where they'd run laps and then play some stupid game and the whole while Craig would be hoping no one would notice the fading bruises on his legs and arms.

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After school he walked slowly from the building, his jean jacket on, school bag slung casually over his shoulder. He felt kind of dreamy, thinking how he was going to be seeing Ashley on Friday night. Thinking maybe he would talk to his teachers like his dad told him to. Maybe he could get back on track with his life. Maybe he could be better and not make his dad so angry and maybe he wouldn't get hit anymore. Maybe things could all work out. He thought this while he walked away from the school, the sun in his eyes. He was kicking little pebbles as he walked, remembering the exact way Ashley tilted her head and looked at him as he had talked to her.

Looking down, he felt a hard tug on his school bag and was spun around when someone yanked on it. Immediately he tensed up and saw Jimmy's angry face just inches from his own. Then Jimmy put both hands on his shoulders and shoved him hard. He hit the brick wall that was at his back. Jimmy shoved him up against it again.

"Hey! What the fuck did I tell you!" Another shove, and that shove made his fear go away and the red anger took its place.

"What!" Craig said, dropping his school bag and shoving Jimmy back, and it felt good to see him stagger. He came at him swinging, but Craig was better at ducking punches than Jimmy may have suspected.


	12. Chapter 12

Jimmy was a good fighter, Craig could tell. Head down, avoiding his blows like he was avoiding his. But the anger that was always just below the surface overtook him.

"Fuck you, Jimmy! I'll talk to whoever I want to!" He said all this while trying to punch him right in the face, the jaw or the nose and drop him to his knees. But he kept missing and Jimmy kept getting in these hard hits to his shoulders and chest.

"No, you fucking won't," Jimmy snarled, avoiding one punch and getting the glancing blow off his jaw. Craig saw red and shoved him to the ground and just started pounding on him, and he barely noticed when Jimmy covered his face with his arms. He just kept punching, losing himself the same way he did when he was taking pictures. He was gone.

"Craig!" He knew it was Sean who had grabbed him and was hauling him off of Jimmy, and he saw Spinner rushing to Jimmy's side, asking if he was okay. They were all there, staring in awe at the damage they had done to each other. Jay stood on the sidelines, the smile not on his face for once. Marco looked concerned as he helped Jimmy up. He prayed that Ashley wasn't here, looking around he didn't see her.

"Jesus, Craig, you could have killed him," Sean said, peering at him in that somber way of his.

"Well, I didn't,"

Looking over at Jimmy he saw that he was barely conscious, and Spinner and Marco kept asking him simple questions. Blood ran down his face. Craig stared at him with his mouth slightly open. What had he done?

"C'mon," Sean said, pulling Craig gently by the arm. Pliable, dazed, Craig let himself be pulled. Jay followed a few steps behind. They went to Sean's house, and Craig was always struck by the poverty. The yard that was dirt and weeds. The door that was flimsy, somehow. It looked like a strong wind could destroy that door. The fence that leaned in places, that had missing slats. Car parts littered the yard and Tracker's second hand motorcycle leaned against the rotting porch.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Tracker said, and Craig noticed his blond beard.

"Uh, I got in a fight,"

"How's the other guy look?" Tracker said, smiling his vicious smile. Sean frowned at him.

"Here, sit down," Sean said, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs for him. Craig fell into it. He thought their whole house could probably fit into his living room. But Sean didn't really have to answer to anybody, and besides, Tracker didn't beat the shit out of him.

Sean had disappeared but came out now with several face cloths that were wet. The face cloths looked like they were maybe 20 years old, maybe 30. The towels and sheets and everything at his house were brand name, top of the line, and replaced every few years.

"Hold still," Sean instructed, and began to gently clean the blood from Craig's face. He closed his eyes, thinking how weird it was to be hurt and not have to hide it. He saw the face cloths coming away all bloody.

"I think you're gonna have a black eye and a fat lip for your date with Ashley," Sean said, and Craig nodded.

"Fucking Jimmy," he said.


	13. Chapter 13

"Jesus, Craig," That was what his father said to him as he walked through the door. The play of emotions on his father's face was interesting. Concern, anger, guilt. He stepped forward and reached out his hand toward Craig's face and it took everything he had not to jerk away.

"What happened?" he said, leading Craig to the kitchen. He sat in his own kitchen chair now, plush leather and polished wood. He thought that one chair alone might have cost more than Sean's entire house.

"I got in a fight," he said, tired of this question already. What did people think happened? That he was mugged or jumped or something?

"With who?" he said, the tone sharpening. The tone was becoming accusatory. Blame, control. His father always needed to have those things.

"A kid at school," Craig answered tiredly. He swallowed hard when he remembered how he had lost control.

"Who?" Now the tone had flattened, the tone said, 'stop dicking me around and answer,' The tone promised trouble. Craig shook his head.

"Just a kid, dad. It's no big deal," But now his eyes were round, and he looked at his father with the familiar caution. Maybe his father could blacken his other eye. But of course he never touched his face, no matter how severe the beating because people could see that. You can't hide black eyes under long sleeves.

Impasse. But the danger passed, Craig could see it physically leave his father's body, the sharp eyed look and the tense muscles went away, replaced by the caring, tender father he wished was the real one. And the doctor in his father took over, examining for broken bones, for points of pressure or pain that might indicate internal injuries, and Craig allowed the examination. The rare time he could see the person his father's patients undoubtedly saw. And he got him ice for the eye and got out his suture kit for his lip and got him Tylenol laced with something sweet that made him feel almost okay.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The swelling went down and his lip felt a little better sewn back together, but he kept wanting to touch the stitches with his tongue. It was here, the night when he'd be meeting Ashley at the movie theater. He stood in his room standing in front of his mirror that was above his dresser, looking critically at himself. Awful long messy curly hair. Running a brush through it just made it worse. It fluffed out. He couldn't manage to ever buy mousse or gel or something to help it. And the dark circles under his eyes, and his pale skin, and he was too skinny. Clothes hid this pretty well but still. He knew. And of course his stitched up lip and black eye. That kind of made kissing out of the question. She'd be repulsed.

He felt so angry with Jimmy for starting with him, for always messing with him. What the fuck was that guy's problem? As if he didn't have enough problems with failing school and his father always being such a jerk he had to deal with Jimmy's shit, too. Craig shook his head, watching his reflection as it shook his curls. Maybe he should just cut them all off. And for a half of a half second he considered the possibility that Ashley overlooked all these flaws or didn't even see them, that maybe she liked him. And he smiled.

His father wasn't home. He had specifically chosen this Friday night because he knew this was the Friday that his dad had E.R. duty. He was the surgeon on call for the E.R. and he stayed there all night, sleeping curled up in an empty exam room until some emergency shook him awake. That seemed kind of horrible to Craig, going from a dead sleep to operating on some bloody accident victim or someone with a burst appendix who might die if you didn't do it right.

He felt nervous walking to the movie theater but it was a good nervous for once. A nervousness with the possibility that things could turn out good. A nervous excitement instead of nervous terror. His heart was beating fast but it was good. He pictured Ashley in his mind, her pretty eyes like water on a sunny day, like the sky, like the ocean.


	14. Chapter 14

He couldn't believe how nervous he felt standing outside her door. His heart was pounding. He touched the stitches on his lip with his tongue and it felt rough and foreign. He dreaded the questions that would come, and he could hear it in her soft musical voice, 'Craig, what happened?' all filled with concern. He hated when people asked him that.

He'd brought her a flower, one pale yellow rose. He knew the colors of the flowers were supposed to symbolize something but he had just liked this color, an almost there yellow. He closed his eyes for a second and felt light headed, he felt unreal. But it was almost good.

He knocked and held his breath. He could hear people inside and a second later the door was opened. He looked down at Toby.

"Hi, Craig. Jesus, what happened?" he said, staring at the lip and the color around his eye.

"Just a fight. No big deal. Is Ashley here?" he said, and Toby stood aside to let him in.

"Yeah. She's getting ready. Come in,"

Inside and her house was nice. Not as nice as his but nice. High ceilings, a staircase that curved up to the second floor, the rich wood banister curving with it. It was obvious women lived here because of the subtle decorations that his house lacked. His father tended to buy expensive paintings and expensive things with no eye for how they should be arranged.

"Sit down. I'll go tell her you're here," Toby said, and Craig sunk into the cushions on the couch, clutching the rose. The thorns had already got him but he didn't feel the little cuts on his fingers. He watched Toby jog up the stairs and faintly he heard him calling for Ashley.

He was alone and was glad. He didn't feel up for some interrogation by her mother or Toby's father. He could hear her talking to Toby upstairs but not the words. Just his low voice and her higher responses.

She came downstairs, her hair kind of spiky and straight, red at the edges. Her eyes had dark charcoal eye shadow and her lips were painted with this dark purple lipstick. She had on her best jeans and best little clingy shirt with a V-neck. She looked amazing. He blinked, unable to believe that this girl was interested in him.

"Hi," she said, and he stood up, held the rose out to her awkwardly.

"Here," he said, "this is for you,"

She took it, ducked her head.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," she said, and she twirled the rose between her fingers being careful of the thorns. He watched her, saw how she looked at him and then looked away. Saw the dark polish on her nails and the silver rings on her fingers. The one on her pinky looked like tiny silver leaves that curled around her finger.

"I'll get a vase," she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. Toby rocked back on his heels and looked critically at Craig's injuries.

"Jimmy beat you up?" he said, and Craig looked down.

"Not exactly, it was a fight," he said, because what Toby said made him think of his father, made him think of not fighting back.

"He likes her, you know," Toby said, and Craig nodded. 'Likes her, hates me,' he thought.

Ashley came back from the kitchen, set the vase and rose down on the coffee table.

"So, uh, ready to go?" she said, and he nodded.

"Bye, Toby," Ashley called as they walked out the door.

"Have fun," he said, looking for all the world like a smug little brother.

Outside, the light just starting to dim, all the houses looking closed up against the coming night. Some of the houses had lights on, a warm yellow glow. Others had just the weird flickery blue of the T.V.

"I'm glad your parents weren't there," he said, and she nodded.

"I planned it that way," He smiled, thinking of how he'd planned this night for when his dad was gone, too. This night was theirs.

"What happened?" she said, her voice filled with soft concern and she gently touched the edge of his black eye with her fingertip. Her touch felt electric to him, almost healing. He suppressed his instinct to pull away.

"Nothing. Uh, I mean, just a fight," He closed his eyes, prayed she wouldn't press it further. With who and why and all those questions. He wondered if she'd be mad that he had hurt Jimmy so badly. But she didn't press it, sensing his discomfort.

The movie theater wasn't far. It was packed. Kids had spilled outside, talking and laughing, skateboarding. Craig watched one kid with pin straight blond hair crouch low on his skateboard and glide past them. Ashley laughed and took his hand, suddenly and naturally. He liked the way their fingers intertwined.

It felt cool and old fashioned for him to buy her ticket and buy her popcorn and candy, a package of gummy bears. She looked up at him and murmured thanks. He nodded. Money was truly no problem for him.

"Terminator 3, The Rise of the Machines" was what they chose to see. They sat near the back of the theater.

"So, um, I always see you with Sean and Jay," she said cautiously.

"Yeah?" He didn't sound exactly defensive but it was close.

"So, I don't know. You don't really seem like them. In a way. Why do you hang out with them?"

He pressed his lips together, feeling the slight pull of the stitches. He wondered what she meant. Did he seem better than them? Was it because he was richer, or his father was richer? Was it because he wasn't in as much trouble as Jay? But he got in more trouble than Sean. Was it because they weren't in the top classes like her and her friends? But he wasn't in those classes, either. Maybe he could have been, once. He remembered doing well in school, liking school, before everything turned to shit.

"I don't know," he mumbled. She gave him a sad smile, touched his hair. He liked when she touched him.

The lights dimmed and the previews started. He was glad for the darkness and the noise, the surround sound. Now they could be together but wouldn't have to talk. She slipped her hand into his again and he gave her hand a light squeeze.

Movies. Next to taking pictures they were his escape. He could vanish into a movie, submerge himself into that world no matter how fantastical. For the near two hours of the movie he was gone, there was no Craig Manning, no failing school, no teachers hassling him, no Jimmy being a jackass, and no father. It was sweet relief.

This time, though, he didn't need to completely escape. He was conscious of Ashley's hand in his, of her head on his shoulder, of her lips against his. He was conscious of his hand running through her hair and of her hand on the back of his neck.


	15. Chapter 15

"Where's Sean?" Craig said, tilting the bottle back, feeling the Jack Daniels burn down his throat and into his stomach. It was Monday and they were in the woods near the school. The scenery was becoming a blur to Craig, all brown tree trunks and green leaves.

"I don't know, he said he had to go to shop," Jay said, taking the bottle from Craig and tilting it back himself, "kid has a work ethic or something," Jay smiled his crazy smile. Craig thought about it, how Sean had more of an idea than they did of what he should do, of what he was doing.

"So how was your date?" Jay said, stumbling a little as he walked. Craig was stumbling, too. The ground was moving.

"It was…great," he said, smiling. It was great kissing Ashley on her porch steps in the yellow glow of the outside light. It was great not having his dad home all weekend. He could almost feel normal. He reached for the bottle again with a pang of guilt. This weekend at his house, the warm feeling from kissing Ashley had stayed with him, he'd told himself he wasn't going to skip again. He'd told himself he was going to talk to his teachers like he'd told his dad he already did.

"Good, I'm glad you're having such a great time. But you know your dad is going to kill you when he finds out, uh, when he finds out you haven't talked to any of your teachers," Jay shook his head sadly, "Manning, I thought you were smarter than that,"

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Back in school, drunk. But he thought he could pull it off for just the last couple of periods. He passed Jimmy in the hallway and Jimmy narrowed his eyes at him but didn't come near him. Good, Craig thought, I'll fucking kill you if you start with me again.

He saw Ashley waiting for him at his locker, felt his stomach kind of twist. Suddenly he wished he hadn't drank so much with Jay, that he was clear and sober to talk to her. It was better to be present around her. But he shrugged and walked over, maybe she wouldn't notice.

"Hi, Craig," she said, her voice sweet, her eyes looking up at him.

"Hi," he said, and because he was drunk he leaned closer to her than he would have, he almost kissed her.

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Home for six. That was the rule. He smoked pot with Sean and Jay in the ravine after school, and it was just how he liked it. He liked being fucked up. He liked reality being filtered through etoh and thc. It was easier to deal with. But at home he felt at a disadvantage. Sometimes it was better to be sober at home, it was smarter.

Dinner was a tense affair. His father hardly said two words to him, and Craig felt the paranoia cranking up. He knew. He knew he had been drinking and smoking, he could tell. Of course he could tell, he was a doctor. All he'd have to do was look at his pupils and he knew exactly what he had been doing.

Up in his room, feeling nervous through the buzz. Jittery. The crackly energy that had been around his father was never good. He tried to take a deep breath and tell himself it was okay.

"Craig!" His father, downstairs. The anger in his voice made Craig's heart start to pound. He should leave. He could leave. Just go out the window and onto the roof of the porch and down to the ground. He'd go to Jay's house, Sean's house, Ashley's house, anywhere but here.

"Craig get down here!"

The memory of last year, of trying to leave and his father with the golf club and being pulled back and hit so hard, the memory of being beaten so badly when he'd tried to get away came up and blocked his thought of leaving. He sighed, felt the last of his buzz drain away. Slowly he headed downstairs.


	16. Chapter 16

Standing at the edge of the stairs, holding onto the banister, Craig stood frozen. He could feel the alcohol and pot in his blood stream making him fuzzy headed, slow. It leant an unreality to the situation, a horror tinge. Paranoia was cranked to an unbearable level.

"Craig," Now the quiet voice, but still his eyes were narrowed and angry. Craig closed his eyes and tried to imagine what he was angry about. The teachers. His date with Ashley which he had somehow found out about. Smoking and drinking with Jay and Sean. Skipping class. Fighting with Jimmy. There was no end to his list of sins.

"What?" Craig said in a whisper. His father took a step toward him and Craig flinched where he stood but couldn't move. Like a nightmare he was frozen.

"The school called. Again," Now he saw the clenched teeth, the clenched fists. There was no air. There was no where to go. He watched as his father gathered the material of his shirt into his fist, pulling him forward off the step.

"They called again, and what do you think they had to say?" Sarcastic, the sarcasm dripping from the words like those old horror movie posters with the dripping letters. Craig could feel the collar of his shirt tight around his neck, and Albert jerked him forward.

"Huh?" His father's face just inches from his own, and he saw the crooked, slightly yellowed teeth, saw the tiny cracks in the black frames of the glasses.

"I, uh, I don't know," His words still whispered, but they sounded loud in his head.

"You don't know?" Jerked forward again, his shirt still firmly in his father's grasp. He wished he was in school, sitting in a boring classroom looking at the patterns of sunlight on the floor, listening to the soft monotone of a lecture. He wished he was in the woods holding the smooth glass of the Jack Daniels bottle. He wished he was on the porch with Ashley, looking at the red highlights in her straight hair, daring himself to kiss her.

"What do you mean you don't fucking know!" He was thrown back so suddenly and so violently that he barely felt the pain as his tailbone landed smack on the hardwood floor, and he hardly had time to process his new position in time and space before he was kicked in the stomach and curling up around the pain.

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He didn't know if his father left the house or just the room, the hallway front area. At first he couldn't even breath and gasped like some fish thrust onto the rocks. The pain came in waves, and he knew from previous experience that that pain would hang on for a day or two, gradually fading like a radio station you're driving away from.

He hadn't heard the front door open and close, hadn't heard his father's car start up and drive away but that didn't mean it hadn't happened. He sucked in his breath and felt the tears on his cheeks. Tears from physical pain, that's all that was.

He attempted to stand up but felt his stomach protest. It felt better to be curled up, to guard from the pain. He didn't think he could get up quite yet. He didn't care where his father was. He could come back and kill him for all he cared. He curled up again, the hardwood floor as comfortable to him as the cool tiles of the bathroom to a puking drunk.

When he could breath almost normally he tried to stand up again, with more success. It was then he noticed the acute pain in his tailbone. He held onto the banister.

"Fuck," he said under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut, walking like an old man. He had to get to his room, the only safe place here. It was safe enough if he locked his door.


	17. Chapter 17

It had to change, Craig thought. Things had to change. He was lying on his bed, feeling the waves of pain from the kick in the stomach, feeling the constant throb of pain in his tailbone. Maybe it was broken. He knew a bit about broken bones, knew that if his tailbone was broken there was nothing that could be done for it. Just pain meds. He knew that the circular healed breaks in his arms was almost proof of child abuse, the only way an arm can break like that is by being twisted. That's all it would take, just one goddamn x-ray of his arms and then Children's Aid could yank him out of this house so fast.

He closed his eyes, listened to the absolute silence of the house that meant his father had left. The pain was wrapping itself around him, enveloping him like it always had. His constant friend. Despite the pain and the endorphins making him feel high, higher than pot or alcohol ever could, he thought maybe he was thinking a little more clearly. Things weren't going to change, no matter how badly he wanted it. No matter how hard he prayed or how good he was. It was a pattern and it wouldn't change. It was getting worse.

The light was fading, the shadows were growing long. When he was little he used to fear those shadows, feared whatever monsters were in them. Now he knew right where the monsters were.

He thought about when he was younger and his parents were still married, thought about his father's anger even then. It was directed more at his mother then, something to do with the household and cleaning and how she was. She took the brunt of it. He was slapped and spanked then, but that was all. And he'd deserved it. Running into the road, drawing on the walls, scuffing the floors, talking back to both parents. Those things. A little slap, a little spank. It had only hurt for the moment, hurt his pride more than anything. The sting of his father's hand across his face or his butt, and his face would turn red and the tears would come.

He had been so caught up in the sadness of his mother leaving that he hadn't realized that all the anger that was in the house, that was in his father, that he would be the only outlet. That hadn't occurred to him when his mother moved out. He hadn't thought things would change. He hadn't suspected it, or had he? Didn't he realize the buffer to his father's anger was gone?

He sat up and even the soft bed hurt the tail end of his spine.

"Fuck," he said under his breath. It was broken. Then what would happen during the next beating? What would get broken then?

It had so gradually gotten worse once his mother left. More things seemed to be his fault. The crackly air and the narrowed eyes and his father's sarcasm, his little rules, all the demands. The slaps and spanks turned into punches and kicks and shoves. It had turned into lashes with the belt. Welts on his back. Black and blues up and down his arms and legs. The constant feeling of feeling like shit. Feeling worthless. Feeling stupid.

At his mother's wedding he could hardly stand the material of his shirt touching his back, the welts were red and raw, weeping with infection. Whenever anything touched it this jolt of pain shot through him and he tried so hard not to let it show on his face. He wouldn't ruin his mother's day. Not for anything. She couldn't know. Dancing with Emma and she'd kept touching his back and he stiffened up but wouldn't show the pain on his face. He smiled. Laughed. He was fine. Fine.

In the fading light from the window he saw the locks on his door, the faint gleam of the gold and silver locks. To keep his father out. But what good did it do? He shifted a little and almost cried out, the pain making him feel faint. He could go to the ER and, and what? His father worked there. Everyone knew him. He couldn't go there. This was almost as bad as having a cop for a father.

He laid down again, relieved to have the pressure off of his tailbone. He could go to Sean's house. Tracker wouldn't mind. He had to go somewhere. He couldn't stay here.


	18. Chapter 18

He took a deep breath and stood up. Swayed a bit and closed his eyes, groped out for the edge of the bed. He didn't care if his father had come back home or not, he was leaving. That was all there was to it.

Outside, the air chilled, making him blink against it. He had taken a bottle of prescription strength motrin and popped two into his mouth, swallowed them without water and felt them going down his throat. Those might help.

It took about a half hour to walk to Sean's house, and he just hoped someone was home. It didn't have to be Sean. Tracker would be fine. He didn't notice as the neighborhoods became progressively cramped and poor until he reached the virtual shack Sean lived in. The tar paper roof sloped over the edge of the house, the thin door didn't quite fit the frame. Even in the gloom he could see the tough weeds that had overtaken the lawn.

The glow of the lights inside looked yellow, and it reminded him of little cottages in medieval tales he'd read as a kid, little cottages that clung to the side of rocky mountains. He pushed aside the chain link fence gate and walked up to the front door.

"Craig," After he knocked Tracker opened the door and looked down at him with his typical bemused expression, "want to come in?"

He nodded and went up the wooden steps and into the kitchen. Sean looked up with mild surprise from his bowl of macaroni and cheese.

"Hey, Craig," Sean said, spooning the food into his mouth and sipping coke from a glass jelly jar.

"Hi," Craig said, standing because the wooden chairs would kill his bruised or broken tailbone, he knew.

"What's up?" Sean said, and now his mild surprise had turned to concern. Craig stood next to the table because he couldn't sit and he felt the heat from the room warming his cells, and he could feel the tears starting to slide down his cheeks. He wasn't quite sure why he was crying. Maybe he was just relieved that Sean was at home.

"Nothing," Craig said, swiping angrily at the tears, feeling so profoundly stupid he couldn't stand it. Tracker had sat on the far side of the table and poured himself a glass of beer and watched the developments like he was watching a play.

Sean stood up and came over to Craig, and Craig jerked away from him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sean said, touching Craig's arm, feeling the tenseness of his muscles. Tracker took a bite of macaroni and cheese and washed it down with a sip of beer.

"It's my dad…we had a fight…and uh, I can't go back there. I can't,"

Sean licked his lips and nodded. Tracker blinked avidly, tossed a little salt into his beer.

"You can stay here," Sean said, and now Craig was looking down and fighting the tears again, "do you want to stay here?"

"Yeah,"

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Sean fixed up the couch in the living room and Craig had fallen asleep quickly, the tears dried on his cheeks.

"Think he's okay?" Sean said to Tracker. They both stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen and watched Craig sleep.

"No," Tracker said, "he's one fucked up kid,"


	19. Chapter 19

He woke up and wasn't sure where he was. For a moment things were just blank, and it was almost nice. The couch and old blanket on top of him were unfamiliar, and the way the light came into the room full force without curtains was unfamiliar. He blinked and sat up, winced at the pain that shot through his back. The pain made it all come back. He was at Sean's house.

It was early, he could tell by the light. Sean and Tracker were probably still sleeping. He got up and felt cold, the house/shack wasn't well insulated. He went over to the window and stared out, the blanket wrapped around him. He still had the motrin bottle in his pocket and he popped two more into his mouth. He swallowed them hard and went back to the couch to lie down and maybe sleep some more if he could. He didn't have a plan, he didn't know what he was going to do. He just knew he wasn't going back.

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Sean got up around his usual time, 10 o'clock, and Craig had fallen back to sleep. Craig's eyes were red and puffy from crying, and Sean could see some dark vicious bruises on his body where the blanket had slipped off and his shirt rode up. He stared. He knew what he was seeing.

He poured himself some cereal and milk and ate at the kitchen table. He usually ate in front of the T.V. sitting on the couch but he didn't want to disturb Craig. He knew he'd have to deal with what was going on with him and he'd rather put it off for as long as possible. Craig's father scared him, too. The few times he had seen him he seemed like a law unto himself, a powerful person in the community and society and he was a surgeon. Sean was aware of the power and privileges that kind of position would bring, maybe even more so than Craig because he was poor, and he knew the power people could have in society. He knew the power his parents didn't have.

Tracker shuffled out to the kitchen and started making coffee, blinking tiredly in the morning sunlight.

"Hey, kid, what's up?" he said to Sean, and Sean looked from Tracker to Craig. He stood up and went over to Craig softly, trying not to wake him.

"Look," Sean said, and lifted the blanket ever so slightly so Tracker could see the bruises and cuts on him.

"I guess that was a fight, huh?" Tracker said, shrugging, turning back to the coffee pot.

"Yeah, I guess. He can't go back there, but, well…"

"Well what? You want him to stay here?" Tracker said, running a hand over his blond goatee.

"It's not that. I mean, it's not that simple. His father isn't some out of work drunk like our parents. He's a friggin' doctor. A surgeon. I mean, he's rich, and he's like, he must have connections and shit. It's not that easy, just him staying here, you know?"

Tracker nodded, watched his coffee brew. Glanced over at Craig.

"Yeah. Well, I don't know. He can't go back there, even if his father was the freakin' Prime Minister of Canada. It doesn't really matter what he does, look what he did. You know?"

Sean nodded, finished his cereal, and watched Craig sleep.

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Noon. Now he was awake. He never slept this late, not at home. He sat up, feeling achy and sore and feeling the sharp pain when he moved the wrong way. And he was hungry. Sean was watching T.V. in the chair, fully dressed, his expression somber like it so often was.

"Good morning," he said, and Craig echoed it back.


	20. Chapter 20

He felt the conviction start to slip. It was so easy in the heat of the moment to say, to think, that he was going to leave. Time always took away his conviction. Leave? Where would he go? He couldn't stay here.

"Hungry?" Sean said, his expression carefully blank.

"Yeah," Craig said, and watched as Sean went to the kitchen and started opening cabinets and offering him choices. The choices were basically cereal, sandwiches, macaroni and cheese.

"I'll make a sandwich," Craig said, trying not to wince and give away his level of pain. He thought Sean noticed, he thought he saw Sean narrow his eyes at him. Craig shook his head. Paranoia. He slapped together a quick sandwich of ham and cheese and didn't bother to look for mustard. He didn't think they had any, anyway.

He went back to the couch to eat his sandwich, thankful that at Sean's house you could eat while sitting on the couch, unlike at his house. God forbid any food spill anywhere in his house. He closed his eyes, chewed his sandwich, and even with his eyes closed he could feel Sean looking at him.

"Craig," Sean said, his voice somber like his look. Craig looked at him from the corners of his eyes, chewed his sandwich. He could tell Sean everything. He could tell him about the beatings and the belt, the rules, the way his dad's eyes looked when he was angry.

"What's going on?" Sean said, and for a minute, just a second, he wanted to cry because of something in Sean's voice, some sort of real concern he wasn't used to.

"Nothing," Eyes on the T.V., still chewing bites of his sandwich. Cheap prepackaged ham and prepackaged slices of cheese. It was all sort of tasteless. All he could taste was what was used to preserve it. At his house, if they had deli meat it was from the delis downtown, the expensive little places that have been there for decades.

Sean didn't know how to push it. His friendship with Craig, like Jay, was built on escaping reality, not facing it. They drank in the woods, they smoked pot in the alleyway, they talked about things that were so far out of reach it was nearly breathtaking. He didn't confront his friends with unpleasant aspects of their lives. All of their lives had unpleasant aspects. It was so deep and unspoken that now, when he knew that Craig needed him, or someone, he didn't know how to speak it.

"I, uh, I gotta go. Thanks for letting me stay here. Thanks a lot, but I've got to go," Craig said, and put his dish with the crumbs of his tasteless sandwich on the counter near the sink.

Sean watched him go with the somber look still on his face.

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He was going home. He had to face it, and his father would be fine. If he was home. Craig knew he'd be aloof or apologetic, and both were better than violent. But the current storm had passed. He was safe.

Leaving wasn't an option and he knew it. He knew who was in control in his life. His father. There was no escaping his authority, his reach. He'd tried to leave for real once. Ninth grade. He'd failed. He wasn't the same kid as he was then. That kid had more potential, more hope, more self-esteem. That kid wasn't as beaten.

Head down, his bag over his shoulder, he walked slowly back to his house.


	21. Chapter 21

Albert wasn't saying much but supper was roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, and he kept glancing at Craig and smiling a tight little smile. Craig tried to get the angry, wounded look off of his face but just sitting on the hard kitchen chair was hurting his tailbone and he was still popping motrins and Tylenols like crazy. Through his narrowed eyes he was looking at his father and thinking, 'it'll just happen again,'.

It was this period of his father's shamed silent apologeticness that he could get away with the most. He chewed his chicken and sipped his soda, trying to remember when he last had a pain pill.

"Uh, dad, I'm gonna hang out at Sean's house again tonight," he said, and sipped his soda, watching his father over the rim of the glass.

"Okay," Albert said, and smiled a real smile at his son.

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Sean and Jay stood near the movie theater downtown waiting for Craig. Sean was thinking about the bruises he'd seen on Craig, the tears, the cracks in his voice, 'I had a fight with my father, I can't go back,' He wondered if he should have asked him exactly what was up right then. Sean knew how time could erode the emotions that got you out of a situation. He knew that was what happened.

Jay handed over the bottle of Jack Daniels and Sean took a quick swig, almost enjoying the burning sensation as it went down his throat. Telling Jay wasn't even an option. What could Jay do?

In the distance he saw Craig, and as he got closer he told himself he just wouldn't say anything. Not until he could figure out what to do.

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In school, the hallway flooded with morning light, Sean watched Ashley walk by. Ashley. He wondered why he hadn't thought of her before. Ashley was in love/lust/something with him. She'd be able to help.

They had the same study period in the library and Sean watched her from across the room, watched the play of light on her reddish brown hair, the way her eyes scanned the page she was reading. He walked over.

"Hi, Sean," she said, looking up from her book.

"Hi," He scratched his head. How in the hell should he bring this up? He sat down at the table she was at and rocked a little in the seat.

"What's up?" Ashley said, chewing the end of her pen.

"Well, I'm kinda worried about Craig,"

She leaned forward, her interest level ratcheted up a notch when he mentioned Craig's name.

"Why? Why are you worried?" He could just feel the concern in her glassy blue eyes. He rubbed his own eyes, felt the sick twinge of a headache.

"Well, I don't know. It's his dad, I guess. I don't think they're getting along. I think maybe his dad is hitting him or something,"

"Really? That's awful," she said.

"Yeah," he said, "it is,"


	22. Chapter 22

Craig stood in the hallway by his locker, looking at the stack of books that he hasn't touched in days. He wasn't doing homework, he wasn't studying, he hadn't gone to see any of his teachers. The circle was closing. His father wouldn't be able to fix it much longer. He'd fail 10th grade.

He rationalized it. Sean was in grade nine so he'd be with him in grade 10. Of course Jay would be in grade 11, two grades above them. But so what? He didn't care. Soon he'd be old enough to just drop out.

He took down his books for his next couple of classes, thinking about how he used to do really well in school. Was that when his mother was still alive? It might have been. It was before his father's temper had spiraled out of control, before he spent nights tossing and turning in fear or pain. It was before he fell asleep in class and got hauled down to the nurse after it had happened enough. The nurses, the guidance counselors, the principals, the teachers, they all looked at him like something was off kilter, something was fucked, they just couldn't put their finger on it.

"Craig," He nearly jumped at his name, lost in thoughts and memories. The sound of his name pulled him back to the present. Ashley stood near him, looking worried. Craig closed his eyes, guessing where the worried look had come from. Sean told her he was having problems with his dad.

"Hi," He didn't know how to feel about her worry. It was touching. It was nice that she was concerned for him. But it irritated him. He didn't want to be the object of pity in her eyes. He didn't want her to rescue him.

"Meet me outside for lunch, okay?" she said, and smiled her slow, sexy smile at him. He nodded, feeling almost pinned by her blue gaze. He couldn't refuse her anything. Maybe she wasn't worried. Maybe Sean hadn't told her anything. Maybe he was just paranoid.

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School had been rough. Teachers asking him questions about shit they knew he knew nothing about. They knew he wasn't doing the work. They were lucky he was showing up at all. And they were calling him 'Mr. Manning,' which bugged him. But he just stared at them all pissed off, not saying anything.

Jay offered him a little nip of Wild Turkey between math and composition and he drank it hungrily, hoping it would dull the sharp boredom of being here, of breathing in the air filled with chalk dust, of staring at the clocks on the walls. He chewed the Big Red gum, knowing the strong cinnamon flavor would obscure the smell of the alcohol. It was like burying cocaine in a crate of coffee grounds.

At lunch time he headed outside after buying an apple. He had no appetite. The apple tasted old, already browning at the edges. The school cafeteria sucked. Everything sucked. He threw it down after eating only half of it. He saw Ashley at one of the picnic tables, a tray of food in front of her. He headed over.

"Aren't you eating?" she said, spearing a perfect cube of turkey with her plastic fork.

"I ate," he said, looking at the geometric cubes of meat swimming in a thin gravy of the same color, a pasty off-white.

"Craig, uh, I'm kind of worried about you," she said, sipping milk through a straw. It was one of those economy tiny cartons of milk and the straw seemed to dwarf it, rising up to twice the height of the mini carton. Craig licked his lips, closed his eyes. She was worried. Sean had talked to her. He wasn't paranoid.

"Oh yeah?" he said, looking at the weird bright orange of the dried out carrots on her plate, looking at the splattered remains of his apple a few feet away. Looking at the clouds behind the school. Not looking at her.


	23. Chapter 23

"Craig," Ashley's voice pulling him back to her, and he looked at her. Unblinking, scared, his dark hazel eyes locking with her pale blue ones. Time stretched out slowly like taffy melting.

"Sean told me about you and, um, you and your dad," She was looking at him with pity and compassion and something like love, and he didn't know what to do. He wanted to run. That had always been his natural inclination. See ya. He'd had to run from it.

What had Sean told her, exactly? He knew Sean knew or suspected more than he'd ever said. He knew Sean had seen the bruises and he'd heard him talk about how much he hated his dad. Sean knew.

Craig looked around at the picnic tables, the chain link fences shimmering in the sun, the glass doors of Degrassi reflecting the ground and the sky. He took a deep breath of the cold air, looked at the way Ashley's hair touched the collar of her jacket. Maybe it was time to stop running from it. He was in 10th grade. He wouldn't be going on to 11th. And when his father found out he could look forward to being beaten. That was a given.

He sat down at the picnic table, felt like there wasn't enough air left in the world to fill his lungs. He tapped the wooden table top with his fingernails, listening to the little drumming sound it made. Then he looked at Ashley again.

"What did he tell you?" he said, swallowing hard. Why not face it? It had been long enough. Ever since his mother died. Sixth grade.

"He told me that you had come to his house after a fight with your father, and he said you were really hurt. Craig, does your father hit you?"

He'd dreaded this sort of question. He'd lied about it so much in his own head that he barely knew what was true anymore. But he was hit. He knew that. He could feel the ache from healing bruises right now. How could he lie about it?

"Uh, yeah. He does," His voice was thick and he wasn't looking at her. But he could feel her looking at him.

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Ashley wanted to see him after school, and he'd agreed to meet her. He felt stunned from that lunchtime confession, felt exposed like a photo negative. Ashley knew. Sean knew. They knew about his pathetic life of being hit and beaten all the time, of being strapped with leather belts and thrown against walls and kicked and punched and hurt.

Shop class was after lunch. This was a class that Sean excelled at and he barely understood. The workings of cars and engines and timing belts was beyond him. His father never worked on a car. His cars never needed work. He traded them after a few years and got brand new ones, shiny cars with all the bells and whistles. He'd never known the pain of being under a car in sub-zero weather with coat hangers and duct tape praying it would start so he could get to work.

Sean nodded at him, maybe a tad nervously. All the frustration and rage and humiliation of admitting to Ashley what was wrong suddenly focused on Sean. Sean told her. Craig's eyes blazed and he went over to him.

"What the hell, man?" he said, shoving Sean against the wall. Sean braced himself and pushed back just enough to get away.

"What?" he said calmly, but eyeing him warily.

"What? You know what! You told Ashley!" Craig shoved him again and Sean closed his eyes and took it like a football player slamming into a tackle dummy.

"Yeah, I did! Okay, I'm sorry, but I had to. I thought I had to," Before Craig could shove him again or possibly hit him Sean walked away, his work coveralls dusty from the wall, and he brushed the dust away as he walked. Craig stared after him.

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Walking with Ashley after school in the ravine. He was smoking cigarettes, something he only did when he was nervous. They stopped by a boulder that had a ledge you could sit on and they sat side by side.

"How bad is it?" she said, peering at him from under her bangs. He glanced at her and took a deep drag of his cigarette.

"You want to know about it?" he said, and the vulnerability in his voice made her blink. He'd never talked about it before, not really. Not to anyone.

"Yeah," Her voice was soft.

Another drag off the cigarette, the nicotine making him kind of high but kind of dizzy. He closed his eyes and started talking.


	24. Chapter 24

What Ashley did was listen. Craig didn't look at her often throughout the confession, little glances here and there. Mostly he stared down at his sneakers, his voice a soft monotone. It filled in gaps for her, it made puzzling things start to make sense. She remembered how he was in ninth grade, she remembered that he had done better in school for awhile. He had been one of the kids like her, she had thought then. Smart. Motivated. Polite. Respectful. But it had changed. Over the course of last year and this year he had changed, and now she understood why.

She wasn't in many of his classes anymore, because he was flunking and not trying and you couldn't stay in the top classes doing that no matter how smart you were, and she believed he was smart. She knew he was creative. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him, seeing the sadness in his eyes.

Beatings, that's what he said. She realized she couldn't quite fathom it. Her own mother had slapped her across the face in moments of shrill anger, but she had sort of deserved it. And it was just a slap. Her father was calm and patient and would never raise a hand to her. When he was angry he became very quiet and told her to go to her room…now. There was no arguing with that quiet anger. But the things Craig was describing? The cloying atmosphere of his father's building rage? The wall at his back and nowhere to go?

She had noticed that he wore long sleeves in warm weather. She had noticed that he fell asleep in school, a lot. She had noticed who he hung out with, Jay and Sean. When she had first met him in ninth grade she couldn't imagine that that would be who he chose for friends.

Craig had filled her head with haunting images. The desolation of his mother first leaving them and then dying, her stick thin body barely denting the bed. The way his father's face twisted with anger, the narrowed eyes behind the dark frame glasses. The raised strap in his fist and Craig cowering beneath it, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the pain. She licked her lips and felt tears welling in her eyes.

When the words were done Craig lit a cigarette with a shaking hand, the flame from the lighter flickering with his unsteadiness. He got it lit and blew the smoke away from her, and then he looked at her. She widened her eyes, it was such a strange look. It was like he thought she'd blame him for what he said had happened, or that she wouldn't believe him.

"I deny this so much, usually," he said, pulling the smoke into his lungs, and Ashley resisted the urge to lecture him about smoking, "I lie about it all the time, to everyone, but also to myself, so I don't really believe what I'm telling you. Sometimes I don't even believe it when I'm staring at bruises in the mirror. There's this weird kind of disconnect that goes on. I don't know. I'm just fucked up, that's all,"

Ashley watched the smoke curl away from the cigarette and disintegrate into the sky. She didn't know what to do, what to say. What could she say? She touched his upper arm through his sweatshirt sleeve and she could feel his muscles tighten, but she rubbed his arm lightly, pressed her lips together. Sean had come to her with this information, and now Craig had admitted it. She was the one they were turning to. She nodded to herself. She'd help, somehow.

"There's got to be some solution," she said softly.

"Well, there isn't," he said, and she'd never heard so much defeat in someone's voice.

"There is, Craig, you can't stay there-"

"And where am I supposed to go?"

"Do you really want to be at your house when your dad finds out that you flunked 10th grade?" she said, going for the jugular. She knew what would happen to him when his father found out, she knew now. He had known for months. What must that be doing to him?

"I tried to leave once, okay? It didn't work," His look darkened, remembering that day with his bedroom door locked and his father pounding the door and crashing through it with the golf club, the remembered feel of the hard steel crashing into his body, the certainty he had that his father was going to beat him to death with that golf club. That's what happened when he tried to leave.


	25. Chapter 25

Sean had done what he could for Craig. He told Ashley, and she was one of the most respectable and responsible people he knew, almost like an adult. He'd told her and hoped she could fix it.

School morning, the day sun drenched and looking almost like summer despite the cold breeze. He found her before homeroom talking to Ellie in the hall.

"Ashley," he said quietly, and she excused herself from Ellie and went over to him.

"How'd it go? With Craig, I mean," he said, shifting from one foot to the other.

"I don't know. Not that great, I guess. He says he can't leave," she said, and watched Sean scowl.

"What? Why not? He can't, he can't stay there,"

"I know. But he's scared,"

Sean was quiet and nodded almost imperceptibly. He knew about fear.

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After school Ashley sat in her kitchen, waiting for her mom to appear.

"Hi, honey," her mother said when she breezed into the kitchen, kissing her forehead. Ashley closed her eyes and smiled.

"Mom," Ashley said, and Kate was immediately alert, recognizing the tone of her daughter's voice.

"Yeah?"

"Mom, what would you do if you knew someone who was sort of, well, having this problem, and you knew what they should do but they won't do it, they won't listen to you…"

Kate gazed at her daughter, the problem vague enough to allude to anything. Anything at all.

"What kind of problem?" Kate said. Ashley leaned her head on her hand and glanced out the window for a second, and then she looked back at her mother.

"Well, like, they're in this situation that's really sort of dangerous, and they should change it but they won't. What can you do to get them to, well, listen to you?"

Kate pressed her lips together, still having no idea what Ashley was talking about.

"Sometimes there's nothing you can do," Kate said, "sometimes people have to come to their own realizations about things. You can advise them and offer them help, but sometimes it's just up to them,"

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After supper, the dark gathering outside, dark twists of clouds floating off toward the horizon. Ashley sat in her room on her made bed and held the phone in her hand, a live wire. She wanted to call Craig. She wanted to be sure that he was okay.

She dialed the numbers to his cell phone, her mind filling with thoughts of his father and his home life and the injuries he described, and Sean described. It made her stomach hurt to think about it. She listened to the tiny ringing in her ear, willing him to answer.


	26. Chapter 26

"Hello?" Craig's voice on the phone, and Ashley felt relief fill her up like a cup with water. But he sounded distracted, and far away.

"Hi, Craig," She wondered if she should tell him who it was, the connection sounded faint.

"Ash," he said, and she smiled.

"Hi, uh, how are you?" she said, looking into the darkness beyond her window.

"Fine," he said, and it wasn't an answer. But he was at home maybe, Sean said he usually went home around six for dinner, and it was well past that. He was okay and talking to her. That was good.

She didn't know what to say. She wanted to tell him to leave again, that he shouldn't stay there, but she didn't know how to do it.

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Homework undone, the books sitting in a pile on her desk. She had her green hooded reading lamp on, the one that always cast the room in such a strange glow. She twirled her hair around her finger and thought about what her mother had said. It was up to the person to change things, to realize things, and sometimes you couldn't help them. She bit her lip and thought about Craig. He realized it was bad there. He'd told her. His actions told everyone. Skipping school, doing drugs, getting angry all the time. He was a mess. She'd known he was a mess long before he told her why.

Maybe he couldn't change it. Maybe it was beyond him. He'd told her he tried to leave once, in ninth grade, and was beaten so badly for it he thought he was going to die. That was trauma. That prevented him from leaving again. She shook her head. Thought about Craig's quiet voice as he told her what his life was like, his hands shaking as he lit his cigarette. She didn't think Craig had the strength to change it.

He'd had the strength to tell her about it. Now it was up to her. She nodded to herself, slipped into her shoes and her jacket, and headed out.

"Ashley, where are you going?" her mother said, looking up from her book. Ashley looked at her mother curled up on the couch in the white glow of the lamp. She looked so comfortable. Ashley smiled a little.

"I've got to go out. There's something I have to do,"

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She had known Sean for years, knew where the little shack was that him and Tracker lived in. She'd been there before. It seemed even darker in this part of town, and she shivered in her light jacket. She went up to the door, up the cracked cement steps that didn't quite line up with the door, and knocked.

"Ashley," Sean said, the slight surprise in his voice and his raised eyebrows. Beyond him she saw Tracker sipping beer at the kitchen table.

"Hi, Sean. Can I come in?"

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She sat at the table with them, tapping her long nails on the cheap wooden table.

"Okay, I came here about Craig," she said, "I don't think he can leave. He won't. We have to help him somehow. I mean, is there anyone, some adult, that could possibly help?"

Sean thought about it, bit his lower lip.

"I don't know. Maybe Joey Jeremiah? The guy's his step-father. He never sees him or anything but, I don't know. Yeah. Joey,"


	27. Chapter 27

Ashley felt funny and unsure of herself as she walked with Sean toward Joey Jeremiah's house. She brought Sean along for moral support, because she didn't feel like she could do this by herself.

She fiddled with her zipper, twisting it until it nearly came free from her coat. Sean had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head was down but his eyes were up.

"What if he's not home?" she said, and Sean shrugged.

"He'll be home. Craig has a little sister, she's like five or six or something. He'll be home,"

Ashley nodded, mostly reassured but there were always babysitters. She wanted him to be home because she'd worked up the courage to do this _now_, she didn't think she could work it up again. They walked, and she could hear the echo of their footsteps as they went further and further down the street.

"You know where he lives?" Ashley said, and Sean nodded.

"Yeah. Craig's pointed it out a few times. I know where he lives,"

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

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"There it is," Sean said as they approached the nondescript brownstone squeezed in between two identical ones. Ashley swallowed hard, feeling almost dizzy with nervousness. What if he didn't believe them? What if she had to plead with him and convince him to help? If it came down to that she would. She'd do whatever it took to help Craig.

"Ready?" she said to Sean, her eyes bright in the darkness.

"Yeah," he said, and she raised her hand to knock at the door.

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"Yeah?" Joey answered the door and looked down at them with mild puzzlement. He might not even know who they were. Ashley didn't know who he was and Sean barely knew, second hand.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Jeremiah?" Ashley said, and Sean stood silently beside her.

"Yeah," he said, gazing at them as they stood in the darkness outside his door.

"We're friends of Craig. Craig Manning, your stepson?" Ashley was starting to feel ridiculous. She closed her eyes and thought of the scenes Craig had described, the anger in his father's eyes and the belt in his hand. She thought of Craig himself, this anger and low self esteem always visible in his eyes. She pushed the ridiculous feeling away. Someone should have done something like this a long time ago.

"Oh. Would you like to come in?" he said, still looking mildly puzzled. He swung the door wide and gestured for them to come inside. Inside the small townhouse there were toys scattered about, a fire crackling in the fire place. It was welcoming. Lived in.

She introduced herself and Sean, and she nodded at his offer of hot chocolate. This seemed like a discussion best had over some warm beverage. They'd need all the comfort they could get.

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They sat at the table, hot chocolates steaming in front of them. Sean's expression was grim. Ashley fought the urge to smile nervously. She bit her lip and sipped her hot chocolate.

"We're here about Craig," Ashley said, "he needs help,"

"What kind of help? What's the matter?" Joey said, narrowing his eyes.

"His father…he hits him,"


	28. Chapter 28

Joey didn't say anything at first. He thought about his wife. He thought about when Craig would visit them, infrequently, and how it had seemed to him even then that something was wrong.

He'd brought it up to her once. Craig had been visiting that day and he'd noticed that he was acting weird. Cautious. He was quiet and helpful and when he thought no one was looking at him he had this look that was hard to describe. Blank with pain just underneath.

'Julia,' he had said, watching her read her novel beside him, the white down comforter laying over them both like a cloud, 'do you think Craig's okay?'

'Yeah,' she said, glancing sideways at him, and her tone was defensive.

'You know Albert has a temper-'

'Joey, Craig is fine,' He could hear the period at the end of that. End of discussion. So he'd put it out of his mind. He was probably fine. Now these two strangers were at his door saying differently. He closed his eyes. He knew they were telling the truth.

"How bad is it?" he said.

"Pretty bad," Ashley said, and Sean nodded in agreement.

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He'd let them finish their hot chocolates and he told them not to worry, he'd handle it. He watched as they bundled back into their coats and left, walking with their heads down against the wind. Craig. He'd barely said two words to the kid in years, and he'd told himself that things were fine with him. As Albert had told him on almost every occasion that he'd spoken to him, 'he's my son,'

Joey closed his eyes, feeling the headache pulse beneath his skull. Julia. She knew what Albert was capable of. He shook his head, thinking of the layers of denial. Because of Julia Craig was his responsibility. He couldn't let him stay in that situation. Sean described the bruises he'd seen, Ashley told him about the belt and the beatings.

He felt the burden of the responsibility laying heavy on his heart, but there was nothing for it. He had to help him.

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Joey watched the clock at the dealership. Two o'clock. When did school get out at Degrassi? He didn't even know. Maybe he was too late. He tapped his pen on the desk top. He'd call Snake.

He dialed the numbers from memory. He knew Snake's work number. He took deep breaths waiting for Snake to pick up the line. He looked at the film of dirt on the windows of his office, thought about cleaning it.

"Hello?" Snake. Joey sighed in relief.

"Snake, hey. Listen, what time does school get out?"

"Three. Why?"

"It's my step-son Craig. I've got to pick him up today. Is he, uh, is he there today?"

"Joey, you're picking him up but you don't know if he's here?"

Joey cleared his throat.

"Okay, well, it's a little complicated. But I've got to pick him up today and deal with some things regarding his father. You know, his father, Albert,"

Snake knew of the trouble Joey and Julia had had with Craig's father in the early stages of their relationship, and his brow knitted with worry. Craig was one of the "troubled" kids at the school. He was hard to reach, Snake knew, having had him in several of his classes. It had never occurred to him that the same bastard that used to give Joey so much trouble was this kid's father.

"Yeah. Okay. You're in luck, I guess. He's here today. His attendance record isn't all that great. He's here now. Hopefully he still will be by three,"

"What do you mean? Where would he go?" Joey said, chewing on the end of the pen.

"I mean the kid is a mess. He skips school all the time. He's flunking tenth grade. He's been suspended. He gets in fights. He's here now. That doesn't mean he won't walk out and skip his last class,"

"Oh," Joey said, his voice small, "maybe I should come now,"

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The school loomed in front of him. This seemed like a dumb idea all of a sudden. What would Craig say and do when he confronted him with this? Joey thought he might deny it, like Julia. They both had a capacity for ignoring certain unpleasant truths.

The school enveloped him and just the smell of chalk dust and industrial floor cleaner brought him back to his high school years. It was vertigo. He felt like puking for a second, closing his eyes and feeling 16 again.

He went to the office, told the secretary that he was there to pick up his step-son, Craig Manning. She looked at him impersonally, tucked a pencil stub behind her ear and called him on the intercom. Joey stood on the other side of the counter, hands in his pockets.

It seemed like half an hour at least but it was only ten minutes or so and Craig arrived, looking angry and suspicious. Joey took in the clothes that seemed to just hang on him, the messy curly hair, the shadows under his eyes.

"Craig," he said, and tried on a smile that was just a size too small.


	29. Chapter 29

Craig came into the office, sullen and scared. He wouldn't show the fear. He thought it was his father, and maybe he had found out that he hadn't spoken to a single teacher and hadn't done a single assignment since his suspension. He could picture him standing in the office in his dress suit, black framed glasses that hid his eyes behind the glare.

He saw Joey but his mind didn't register that fact at first. It was like some illusion, his father dressed up like his step-father. But he blinked and realized it wasn't his father at all but Joey Jeremiah, his dead mother's husband. He took in the tight smile and the nervous aura and wondered what on earth he was doing there.

"Hi, Craig," Joey said, and in that instant between seeing the strained smile and hearing him say hello, he got it. Ashley or Sean had gone to him and told him…what? What they suspected? Sean suspected. He'd spelled it out for Ashley. What did he think she was going to do with that knowledge? Let him get the beating that was surely coming?

He thought of her, her clear blue eyes filled with compassion, her quietness as he told her about his fucked up life. She did this. Of course she did.

"Uh, hi," he said, noticing that he was taller. The last time he'd been to his house, the get together after the funeral he hadn't been taller.

"Can I talk to you for a second? Well, I mean, if you don't mind getting out of school early…we could talk," Joey licked his lips and looked around, glancing into the corners of the room.

"Mind? I fucking hate school," Craig said, and Joey sucked in his breath. This was not the polite, conscientious kid he remembered. He'd never heard Craig swear, although his mother could swear a blue streak when the mood struck her.

"Uh, okay. Do you want to go get your stuff?"

"This is it. All I need is my jacket," Craig wore his faded jean jacket with patches sewn onto the sleeves. No books. Joey nodded, and he kept comparing this version of Craig with the pre-teen kid he remembered, the one who spent hours on homework, the one who was…different. Heartbreakingly different.

"Okay then. Let's go," Joey said.

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Joey's car was a red convertible but Craig didn't care about cars. He noticed the diamond patterns on the white leather seats, noticed the rich shine of the paint. Joey must wash and wax it or whatever people did to make cars look all shiny and new. Sean would know.

He got in the front passenger seat and closed the door. He could feel his father's disapproval. It lay over everything like a film of dust.

"Uh, what do you want to do? We could get a bite to eat somewhere, maybe, or, uh-"

"I don't care," Craig said, glancing at him as he settled himself behind the steering wheel.

"Alright," Joey said, adjusting the mirrors and the seat. He drove away from the school, very aware of Craig's presence in the seat next to him. Like Julia he had a presence that could be felt. Joey swallowed, feeling all the moisture somehow sucked from his mouth. He felt the dull headache that began at the top of his skull and spread down to the base of his neck.

He drove to McDonald's and headed into the drive through lane. Craig was looking disinterestedly out the window.

"Want a hamburger or something?" Joey said, leaning over the window to order into the box.

"Yeah, I guess,"

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Joey drove to his office at the car lot. He wanted to go someplace where they could have privacy, but someplace kind of public. He hadn't wanted to bring Craig to his house, thinking that might overwhelm him. He planned to lay it all out to him, what he knew, what Ashley told him, what he already suspected from living with Julia. He'd be overwhelmed enough.

"Come in," he said, heading up the wooden steps that led to the small office. It had the smell of all car lot offices, grease and car simonizer and air fresheners. Craig wrinkled his nose, remembered coming here when his mother was still alive, and for a second the memory shimmered so real that he almost cried. Then he blinked it back and away. She was dead.

"Have a seat," Joey said, gesturing to one of the thick wood chairs. Craig slumped into one. Joey shut the door, set the bag of McDonald's food on the desk, and pulled his chair around from behind the desk.

"Here you go," he said, grabbing a hamburger and tossing it to Craig. He watched him slowly unwrap it and take a bite. He unwrapped his own. He loved McDonald's hamburgers. So flat and tasty. Along with coffee and wine they were his only vice.

He looked at the sullen, resigned expression on Craig's face. He was smart, he probably knew what was up. It all shimmered there between them, and Joey chewed his hamburger. How to start this? He licked his lips and glanced out the window, the tatters of clouds floating by in the baby blue sky.

"Last night Ashley and Sean came by," he said, looking at Craig. He'd taken a few bites of the hamburger and set it aside.

"Yeah, so?" he said quick, and Joey took a shaky breath. He wished that Julia had been right, that Craig was fine.

"So, they told me your father hits you. Has Albert been hurting you?"

He didn't deny it but he didn't answer. He looked away, his eyes getting glazed. Blank. Just like that look he'd seen all those years before.

"Craig? Does he hit you?" Softly questioning, the clouds moving fast now. The cars glittered in the car lot, chrome reflecting off of chrome.

"No," He looked at him almost defiantly, but Joey heard the audible swallow and saw the lie in his eyes.

"No? He doesn't hit you with his belt? Kick you? Throw you to the floor? What about that time last year with the golf club-"

Craig's eyes were getting wide and his breathing shallow. Joey doubted the wisdom of this method. He didn't want to force the truth from him but he didn't know what else to do.

"They told me you're flunking out of 10th grade. What do you think your father will do to you when he finds that out? Huh, Craig? What will happen?"

Tears glistened in his eyes, and Joey watched him. He was as far back in that chair as he could be, shrinking away from him.


	30. Chapter 30

Craig Manning thought, shit, what do I do now? He swallowed hard, looked at Joey from the far edge of the chair he was sitting in. He knew. Ashley and Sean told him. His eyes burned with the tears that were in them, and he swiped angrily at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. Damn them.

It was too much to admit it. It had been too much to tell Ashley. But he had, because she had asked. And sitting so close to her outside he could smell the shampoo she used, and he could concentrate on his cigarette and not so much on what he was saying. Here, in Joey's office, he had no distractions.

The old worries rose up in him, little ripples on the pond. He wasn't supposed to see Joey. He wasn't supposed to see Angela. He closed his eyes, remembered his father's words from last year, remembered the taps on his bedroom door with the golf club.

Joey looked at his step-son, at the tears in his eyes, at the "leave me alone" scream of his body posture. He thought of his wife, dead just over four years, her laugh and gentle smile. He glanced out the window at the cheap plastic flags rippling in the slight wind.

"Craig-"

"Leave me alone, Joey," Craig said, shutting his eyes, squeezing them shut, shutting him out. Joey stared at him helplessly, hands out in a slow motion shrug. He leaned against the wall, out of ideas. Badgering him hadn't worked. Maybe pleading would work. Joey squinted at Craig, shook his head.

Eyes closed, the sounds muffled, Craig pulled into himself. He wished he'd never given Sean the clues to his life. He felt pity radiating from Joey and he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand that Joey thought he needed rescuing.

"Craig," Joey's quiet voice next to him, and he opened his eyes a tiny bit, "I know you don't want to talk about this. That's okay. But I know it's bad at your house. If you need a place to go today, or tomorrow, or any time in the future, you can come to my house. Okay?"

Craig blinked the last of the tears away and looked at Joey, remembered going to his house when his mother was alive, remembered British Columbia. He took a shaky breath.

"Okay," he said.

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In the darkening office, the sky darkening by inches outside, Joey sat at his desk and drank black coffee steaming hot. Craig had said okay in a thick and broken voice, his eyes filled with so much pain. What had he wanted? Had he wanted Craig to just leave his house, his life, all in one fell swoop? He stirred in more sugar, watching it bubble up like a tiny volcano. Was that what he honestly wanted? He sipped the coffee, bitter and sugary at once, and nodded to himself. Some part of him did want that. He wanted Craig to leave Albert just as Julia had, and come and live with him.

Craig had stood up on shaky legs, still backing away, his eyes darting around the room. Joey had just watched him, standing back.

"Bye," Craig had said hastily, not looking at him. Joey nodded, his arms crossed.

"Bye,"

And then he was gone, the office door slamming shut behind him, a tall skinny kid with messy curly hair and dark circles under his eyes, failing tenth grade. The doors were starting to slam shut. Joey had watched him through the large window in the office, and he whispered an apology to Julia.

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Craig started shaking in ernest a few blocks from Joey's car lot. He sat on the edge of a curb and shook out a cigarette. Man, he thought, that sucked. When he'd smoked the cigarette down to the filter he stood up and brushed himself off. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to get fucked up. He headed off toward the cracked and rotting apartment building where Jay lived.


	31. Chapter 31

One thing Craig liked about Jay was that he wasn't always asking him how he was. Maybe Jay just didn't care. But it was easier for him. Right now indifference was preferable to concern.

He stood in the small kitchen in Jay's apartment, looking down. He saw how the kitchen floor was separated from the matted down living room rug by a metal strip. The rug looked like it might have been thick and expensive 30 years ago. It might have been beige then. Now it was a dirty, nondescript off white.

"Jesus, man, where the hell were you after school? Did you skip out early or something?" Jay said, rummaging through a pile of laundry for his jacket. Craig couldn't tell if the pile was clean or dirty.

"Yeah, uh, I left early,"

Jay found the jacket he wanted, an old denim one with patches sewn to the sleeves. He shrugged into it and looked up, flipped his hair off his forehead.

"I left my stash with Alex," Jay said, "let's go,"

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Alex didn't live far from him in another run down apartment building. Narrow dark hallways with old graffiti, broken railings, weeds around the bricks. Craig didn't care. He followed Jay, just wanting a drink, a hit of something, anything.

Jay barely knocked at Alex's door before he walked in, and she was sitting with her arms crossed on the couch. The T.V. was old and flickery. One of Alex's mother's succession of boyfriends was passed out on the other couch.

"Hi," Jay said, smiling down at Alex. She glared up at him and mumbled hi. Craig shrunk back, staying near the door.

"Jay!" Alex's mom, Emily, exclaimed when she caught sight of him. She looked drunk and she smelled drunk. She held a dark beer bottle in one hand and came over and looped an arm around Jay's neck with the other. Hugging Jay, hanging on him, she caught sight of Craig.

"Craig! You're here, too!" she said, letting go of Jay and going over to him. He let himself be hugged, and this close he could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"Mom, leave them alone," Alex said, glaring at her mother. Emily gave her a mock stern look.

"Oh, Alex, please. I'm just happy they came over," At this she gave Craig's cheek a kiss.

"At least somebody is," Alex said, and Jay put on an exaggerated pout.

"You can't mean that," Jay said, and the pout gave way to his wide smile.

"Oh, I do,"

Jay shrugged, smiled at Craig. Of all the people he'd come across Alex truly puzzled him. She seemed miserable, and looking around Craig could see why. But she stood up to everybody, she didn't seem afraid of anything. Craig bit his lip, thinking of the times he's seen her actually be nice to Jay. There weren't that many. If Jay bugged her so much why didn't she leave him? But people had their own complicated reasons, he supposed.

"Ready?" Jay said to her, and now he wasn't smiling.

"Yeah. Just let me get my coat,"

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Now they were at the apartment of some kid Jay knew, or Alex knew. Craig didn't know and didn't care. He sat at whoever friend's it was kitchen table and took a long swallow of his first drink. It was beer, but he thought Jay or Alex had shots of something, and he knew they had pot. But he was mostly sticking to the alcohol. Pot made him think funny, think funny things. Sometimes it almost made things worse, or the thought of things, and he wasn't up for that sort of questioning. He wanted to smooth out the rough edges. He wanted things not to matter so much.


	32. Chapter 32

He was drunk. He felt the world tilting, the colors swirling into each other. He could hear the slur in his speech. Felt himself laughing at things Jay said that he didn't usually think were funny. He looked at Alex and thought how he thought she was pretty, but not like Ashley. Ashley was beautiful.

Even through the drunkenness he could feel the fear. The fear of his father being home. The fear of him smelling the liquor on his breath, seeing it in the way he'd stumble up to his room.

He could avoid the whole ugly mess by staying out all night, sleeping at Jay's house or on the street. He thought of what Joey said, that he could go to his house anytime. Did he mean when he was drunk? Craig shook his head, he didn't think so.

Walking with Jay, barely stopping at the ends of the sidewalks when the light said to stop, cars whizzing by. Jay grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him back onto the sidewalk as a yellow taxi almost took him out.

"Craig, look, I know you're fucked up but you can't just step into traffic like that, buddy," Jay was looking at him with the closest thing to a stern look he had, a smile just behind it. This constituted a lecture from Jay.

"Yeah, okay," Craig said, looking at the light thing that said whether you could walk or not. It looked all smeary in his blurred vision. He wondered where Alex was. She wasn't with them anymore but he didn't remember her leaving. He didn't even know where they were going, he was just blindly following Jay.

Next thing he knew they were standing in front of Jay's apartment building, the chipped bricks visible in the moonlight.

"Well, see ya later," Jay said, sauntering off. Craig stared after him, wondering what to do, where to go. He didn't want to show up at Joey's like some pathetic drunk kid, Joey thought he was pathetic enough as it was. He couldn't go to Ashley's. Maybe Sean's. Maybe. But he didn't know if Sean was even home. It was all too much to figure out, feeling drowsy and off-balance like he did. He'd just go home and hope for the best.

There was his house, looming in the moonlight. The manicured lawn, the individual blades gleaming in the moonlight. The stone walkway, the black iron lamp in the middle of the lawn, the wooden plaque with their last name on it. Craig took a deep breath, his reflexes sharpening even through his drunken haze. This house, all nicely wrapped up in it's stone walkways and manicured bushes, brand new windows gleaming the night back to him, this beautiful house in this nice section of town, this house held all the danger. This was the house where he'd been beaten too many times to count.

It was stupid to keep going here but he had nowhere else to go. Where could he go that his father couldn't come and get him? Craig blinked, swallowed hard, his feet carrying him along the stone walkway to the front door. He knew how the world worked. His father had more money than Joey. His father would win. Expensive lawyers made money for a reason. He knew that. He knew why he didn't go and live with his mother and Joey in the first place.

He had no idea what time it was. Maybe his dad would be asleep. Maybe he wasn't home, maybe he'd been called into work. Craig prayed for that. Let work have called him. Please.

He dug his key from his pocket and fumbled it into the front door, pushed it open. The hall was dark but the kitchen light was on. Shit. Craig crept along, hoping he wouldn't run into his father sitting at the kitchen table, his hands pointing like a temple in front of him, glasses near the tip of his nose.

"Craig," Craig froze. His father said his name with the reserved sternness that had never failed to mean trouble. He didn't say anything and he didn't move.

"Craig?" Questioning now but still stern, almost angry. Craig looked longingly at the front door. It seemed miles away.

"Y-yeah?" He went slowly to the kitchen, felt the light in his eyes when he stepped onto the linoleum.

"Where have you been?" Craig looked around, at the gleaming wood cabinets, at the expensive tile table, at the stainless steel appliances. Questions. Questions were never good.

"Uh, I was, I've been-"

"Are you drunk?"

"N-no-"

"Have you been drinking?" His father had been sitting at the table but he stood up now, and Craig could feel the fear of him in his veins, felt it exploding to all of his cells.

Craig shook his head and backed up, thinking his father could probably smell it on him. Thinking he could see it in his eyes, in the way he was talking. His father was a doctor. He was smart and observant, had to be observant. He probably knew the second he saw him that he was drunk.

"I can not believe you!" Albert roared, coming toward him. Craig squeezed his eyes shut and felt the powerful hands close around his wrists, felt himself pulled forward, his face only inches away from his father's.

"What are you thinking?" Albert demanded, and Craig's head was spinning with all the questions. Questions he couldn't answer, the sarcasm dripping all over them like those old movie posters for horror movies, the words dripping like blood.

"I-I d-don't, I don't know-"

And he didn't know. He was lost. He was drunk and starting to feel sick, and the fear was thick like cotton all around him, and his wrists hurt as they were squeezed, and he was violently shoved to the floor.

"You don't know?" Albert said, looking down at him, and Craig looked up at him, dazed. Being drunk made the shove not hurt as much, he was cushioned in his inebriation.

He curled up and away from the kicks, each one hammering into him. His father in front of him, the kitchen wall at his back. There was no where to go. There was never anywhere to go.


	33. Chapter 33

He didn't know when the beating ended, only that it had. His father was gone, gone somewhere. Craig was curled up on the kitchen floor, groaning. His head was throbbing, but that was more from the alcohol. The room was spinning.

"Shit," he said, struggling to his feet, feeling the room swirl around him. He held out one hand and put it against the wall and that helped a little bit, but the world was still at a severe angle. He felt his way to the downstairs bathroom, flipped the light on. It was harsh, almost florescent, and it hurt his eyes.

He stood over the toilet, thinking he'd like to throw up everything he'd ever eaten. He felt the guilt about drinking as sharp as the nausea. This part, this sickness, he'd brought this upon himself.

After he threw up, the splash of alcohol and bits of food hitting the water in the bowl with such force, he didn't want to leave the toilet. His head was still spinning, the nausea was still there, making him seasick.

He leaned over the toilet, both hands gripping the sides of the seat, and he couldn't tell anymore what hurt from drinking and what hurt from being hit and kicked. It didn't matter, he supposed.

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"Craig?" his father's oddly contrite voice, still parentally firm but with an undercurrent of regret. He'd made it to bed last night, almost crawling there, clutching the railing and pulling himself up the stairs, the taste of vomit in his mouth.

He jerked at the sound of his father's voice, and the sudden movement hurt his head. He was hung over, he knew. He'd been hung over before.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice soft, barely above a whisper.

"You need to go to school today," It was a command but not sharp, just on the edge of firm. He glanced at his father and could see that he was sorry.

"I'll drive you, okay?" he said, and Craig nodded.

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In the car his head was throbbing dully, every slight bump making him want to cry out. Everything hurt today. The hang over on top of everything was too much to bear.

He got out of the car, faking cheer, faking that he didn't feel like the top of his head might just shatter into a million pieces. He started to walk slowly toward the school as his father drove away and then he stopped, turned around, and walked away. He planned on calling a cab and going back home.

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He loved cab drivers. As long as they got paid they took you where you wanted to go, no questions. Craig stared out the window as the cab headed to his house. When his father drove him to school he was heading straight to his office. So he knew he wouldn't be home.

He paid the money, watched the cab drive away down his street. He thought he'd take more Tylenol, even though he'd just taken some. Everything hurt.

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Clicking through the channels on the T.V., sitting on the couch. He didn't know why but hangovers seemed to disappear by noon, it had something to do with the body replacing the lost fluid. He wasn't sure. He just knew he felt better, and all that remained was the aches from the kicks last night.

He wasn't expecting a knock at the door, and he wasn't expecting it to be Ashley. She stood on his front porch, her bag slung over her shoulder, her spiky dark hair hanging around her face.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," He thought about not letting her in. She would just question him, demand things from him, tell him things could be one way when he knew they couldn't. Things couldn't change. But he let her in, stood aside and gestured for her to come in, and he thought his dad wouldn't mind so much since she wasn't Sean or Jay. Maybe he wouldn't think she was such a bad influence like he thought they were.

"Why weren't you at school today?" she said, looking at him critically. He pressed his lips together, thought about it.

"I was sick," he said.


	34. Chapter 34

Ashley. He wished things were different. She had that pity for him that made him feel like he was worthless, somehow. Certainly pathetic. He sat on the couch and watched her set her bag down, shrug her jacket off, and sit, too.

He wanted to tell her that he'd leave if he could, and he's tried before and it always fails. Not just fails but blows up in his face. He wanted to tell her that things aren't as clear to him as they are to other people. Bruises and flinching away and skipping school and drinking and doing drugs, it all points to abuse. But no one else is inside it. No one else sees his father acting like, well, like a good father should and acting like he'd never, never hit him or anything like that. No one is inside his head and he wants to believe that, had to believe that to function for all these years, had to believe that each hit would be the last.

"You weren't sick," Ashley said, with a funny combination of lightness and sarcasm, "Jay told me you were so drunk you could barely stand up last night,"

"Yeah, okay," he conceded, "I was hung over. I just couldn't face school today,"

It was a dry, blue day, and he could see it outside the window. The babble of the T.V. was soothing white noise between them, and he stretched his legs out in front of him. Ashley tucked hers under her.

"Why don't you go see Joey?" she said, and he glanced at her.

"Believe me, Joey doesn't want all this trouble. He's just being nice because he was married to my mom,"

Ashley spared him one troubled look and turned her attention to the T.V. Craig thought about sliding closer to her, maybe putting his arm around her, kissing her neck. His dad wouldn't be home for hours. It was okay. He slid next to her and she smiled, startled. Her look toward him changed, lost that faint pity that made him cringe.

He leaned in toward her and kissed her, closing his eyes, seeing her's close. He liked the feel of her tongue against his. Liked thinking how he could slide a hand up under her shirt. He liked the surge of hormones making him forget all the fucked up things for just one second.

"Craig," she said, her breathless voice twisting his stomach in a good way, and the way she half pushed him away twisted it even more.

"Yeah?" he said softly, leaning into her, leaning over her, pushing her into the couch. This was better. Control. He liked that predatory image better than the poor beaten kid cowering in a corner.

"We should, should stop-" Her voice was soft and her words had no weight, no real meaning, or perhaps even their opposite. He thought about having sex with her right here on this couch. He didn't care that he didn't have a condom and he had no idea if she was on the pill or something like it. He just wanted to have her.

"Yeah," he agreed while kissing her more forcefully than before and slipping his hand up under her shirt. Her eyes closed again and her attempt to push him off grew weaker until she wrapped her arms around him and gave in. The hooks of the bra were beyond him and he just moved it aside as best he could. The light was growing dim outside and he wondered exactly when his father might return to ruin his fun.

He kept kissing her, feeling like he never wanted to stop. He reached for her belt buckle and her hand came down firmly on his.

"Craig," she said, sitting up, her cheeks flushed and her hair a spiky mess in front of her eyes, "do you have a condom?"

"No," he said, shaking his head sadly. Woefully unprepared. She laid down next to him on the couch and he liked the feel of her against him, liked the shampoo apple smell of her hair. He breathed it in.


	35. Chapter 35

The light faded outside, went from the bright blue to subdued orange. Craig felt kind of sleepy, nestled against Ashley on the couch, the T.V. low and soothing. He wished he was older and didn't have to worry about his father so much. Wished he was older and lived far away, never saw him except for the odd holiday and the occasional phone call. Then he could fall asleep next to Ashley and not have to worry about anything.

As it was he kept listening for the sound of his father's car in the driveway, listening like a prisoner listens for the captor. Ashley's fingers were entwined with his, and he liked how it looked, her polished small fingernails against his ragged and bitten nails.

He heard the car pull into the driveway and bolted up, gently pushing Ashley so she was sitting up, too.

"My dad," he said, eyes widened slightly. He looked toward the window and the car lights that were flooding the driveway. Ashley followed his gaze, listened to the soft purr of the engine. Everything Craig and Sean had told her he had done to Craig ran through her head and she felt afraid. Would he come in and scream at her, at Craig? Would he narrow his eyes at her and tell her to get out?

She stood up, shrugged into her jacket, moved her book bag.

"Should I leave?" she whispered, feeling her heart starting to beat faster. She recognized that her reaction must be what Craig felt almost everyday. She wanted to bring him with her. What was wrong with him? Why did he stay here?

Craig's breathing was slow and steady, and he kept his eyes glued to the window. The car lights and the engine had turned off, and she could hear the car door opening.

"You don't have to leave," he said, and then she heard the car door swing shut and footsteps on the driveway. She wanted to. She wanted to run. But Craig's calm demeanor and steady breathing seemed to say that she should stay. Beyond anything she wanted to make him happy, she wanted to please him. If staying would please him then she would.

They both followed the course of the footsteps over the driveway and up the walk and onto the porch. The door opened slowly, and Craig's father stepped into the front hall. Ashley pressed her lips together. In a minute she would be face to face with him, Craig's father. She knew all that he had done. She knew how he wouldn't let Craig talk about his mother. Or Angie. She knew how he had strapped him, hit him and punched him, she knew.

The lights in the living room were suddenly switched on, making both Craig and Ashley squint in the sudden brightness. She saw him, Albert Manning, dressed in a suit and tie and expensive shoes, his hair brushed back, sharp eyes behind black framed glasses. He registered Ashley's presence with one quick glance.

"Uh, hi, dad," Craig said, sitting back against the couch. Craig was still, Ashley noticed, except for his eyes. His eyes darted to his father, to her, to the T.V., the window.

"Hi, who's this?" Albert Manning was taking off his suit coat, hanging it in the closet.

"This is Ashley. Ashley Kerwin," Albert shut the closet door and came into the living room, looked at Ashley.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, offering his hand. She shook it, smiled slightly despite knowing what she knew.

"Uh, dad, do you mind if I walk her home?" Craig said. His father nodded, gave his consent. Craig grabbed his jean jacket from the back of the chair.

"C'mon," he whispered to Ashley, and she followed him out the door.

"I know what you're gonna say," Craig said, falling into step beside her, "he doesn't seem so bad. Yeah. Sometimes he doesn't. He was charming just now. That's good. It's the best way to meet him,"

Ashley walked, shivering in the darkness. She was ashamed for having responded to that charm. She knew what he'd done to Craig. She'd seen the bruises.


	36. Chapter 36

It was fully dark when they arrived outside of Ashley's house. The chill had deepened in the air, and Craig shivered in his jean jacket. Ashley felt the tip of her nose getting cold.

"We're here," she said softly, not wanting to leave.

"Yeah," Craig said, stepping closer to her. She kissed him in the cold, the light from her living room almost reaching them where they stood.

"Bye," she said, still holding onto his hand. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want him to go back to his house where all those bad things happened.

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Upstairs in her room she played the stereo almost loud. She laid on her bed and thought about Craig, how he drove her crazy and how she wanted to save him. She saw that wounded look in eyes, that troubled hurt expression that he tried hard to hide. But she could see it. It was there more and more.

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Walking fast, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling the cold burning through him. He had the feeling he always did going to his house. Heaviness. Weariness. His inability to change anything. Waiting it out. Waiting and wondering what would happen next.

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He stepped inside, trying to tell from the quality of the air what mood his dad was in. Things seemed calm enough.

"Hey, Craigger," The nickname. That meant things were fine, more or less.

"Hey, dad," he said. They were in the living room, and Albert was reading medical journals. That reminded Craig of his homework, and his failing grades, and his likelihood of staying back. Sure, his dad had fixed it once but what would he say when he found out he had fucked it up again?

"Who was the girl, Ashley? Your girlfriend?" There was a slight tone of teasing in his father's voice, a rare thing. Craig blinked, swallowed hard and denied it.

"No. No, she's, uh, she's just a friend," he said, not wanting to give it away. He couldn't give that piece of himself to his father.


	37. Chapter 37

Days had gone by and there was calmness. Craig went to school and actually tried to pay attention in class, some classes. He thought of asking for extra help and leniency regarding staying back, begging for summer school and for Radich to not call his dad.

He'd see Ashley in school, duck his head and smile when he saw her in the hall, lean against her locker and talk to her about anything, everything. He'd brush his hand against her hand, lean his head toward her. At home his father was in a good mood night after night and Craig almost allowed himself to hope that things had changed for good.

He wasn't going out drinking or smoking pot or whatever with Sean and Jay. He was staying home and doing his homework, trying to catch up on a years worth of work he had missed. Most of it wasn't too bad for him, but the science was tricky. He almost asked his dad for help with some of it, but he didn't. He didn't want to push things, rock some precarious little boat that was in a calm sea for once.

One bright morning, the sky that clear and unreal blue, he walked up the steps to the school where Jay and Sean were standing.

"This must be some kind of record, Manning," Jay said, smiling that evil smile of his.

"What?" Craig said.

"You've been here all week. What gives? Turning over a new leaf? Are you trying to be the model student?"

Craig scowled and laughed him off but as usual Jay's snide comments tended to hit close to the truth. Maybe he was trying to be the model student. Maybe he was trying to make up for lost time. Maybe things were good with Ashley and his dad, maybe things were good.

In Simpson's class he breathed shallowly as he waited for his test to be handed back. Usually he failed or came close to it, and a lot of times his tests were marked with red pen and "See me," was scrawled across the top. He never would. But this test he had actually studied for, with Ashley's help, and thought he had a chance of not failing.

Simpson smiled as he placed the test face down on his desk, and Craig slowly turned it over. 85. He let out his breath and felt himself relax in a classroom for the first time all year. This was his highest test grade all year.

"So, how'd you do?" Ashley said at lunch, pushing her tater tots around her plate. Craig dipped one in ketchup and ate it. He put on a mock sad face and Ashley's face crumpled in disappointment, then he smiled.

"Oh, you passed, didn't you?" she said.

"Yeah. 85,"

"I knew you could do it," she said, and kissed his cheek.

Outside, the sky still that clear blue, his arms wrapped around her, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"How are things, you know, at home?" Ashley said, worry filling up her blue eyes. Craig licked his lips and looked away, then he looked back at her.

"I don't know, my dad's been okay lately,"

She saw the scared kind of hopefulness he had, and she didn't want to tell him that it probably wouldn't last. He knew that, she was certain. Deep down he knew it wouldn't last.

That night his dad was late, but that wasn't so unusual. Craig made some macaroni and cheese and ate it in front of the T.V. watching re-runs of "Full House," Mindless. He thought of his 85 today and couldn't believe he had done so well. He thought of Ashley, the way she smelled and the way she looked and the sound of her voice.

He heard the car pull up a little fast and he tried not to worry. He heard the slam of the car door and he gasped, felt the tiny beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. What was wrong? He looked around. The pot he used to make the macaroni and cheese was on the stove with congealing macaroni and cheese in it, his bowl was in the living room. Craig jumped up, grabbed his bowl and rinsed it and shoved it in the dishwasher. He rinsed out the pot as best he could and shoved that in the dishwasher. He heard his father's heavy footsteps on the walk outside and he ran toward the stairs and bolted for his room.

He shut his door but there were no locks on it, that had been a big deal in the beginning of ninth grade and his father had made it clear there were to be no locks on that door, not on a door in his house. From his room he heard the front door open and slam shut and Craig jumped back, closed his door softly. He glanced toward his window, which was locked from the outside so he couldn't climb out. He looked at his closet as a viable option. Downstairs he could hear other things slamming, perhaps his father's briefcase into the table, perhaps chairs or coffee tables. Craig was holding his breath. The calm was over. The storm was here. There would be nothing to do but ride it out.

"Craig!" Craig closed his eyes as his father yelled his name again. Things were wrong, something was wrong. He'd been such a terrible kid, he'd done everything wrong. This litany of guilt and wrong doing ran through his head like a perverse telling of the rosary beads, and each shortcoming that he thought of proved again and again to him that he deserved every beating he got, every hit was his to take because he deserved it, he knew he did.

His father's footsteps on the stairs, his name called again, and then his bedroom door was yanked open and he saw that look in his father's eyes, that bleary, demented look. He grabbed Craig by his wrists and pulled him forward and Craig felt light headed, like he'd faint before anything happened. He was shoved to the floor so suddenly that he barely knew what had happened when his father kicked him in the stomach and he cried out in pain, and he couldn't breath, and when more kicks came he closed his eyes and curled up and waited for it to be over.

He was alone, lying on the floor of his room, curled up, barely able to move. He took a breath and felt the pain from that kick in his stomach. He knew the pain from that would last a day or two and deep breaths would bring it pulsing back. He blinked slowly, not ready to try and stand up, not ready for anything. He wanted to just lie here on the floor.

It was so unfair. Going to school, studying, trying to think things were okay when they weren't. Craig sat up and had this idea, this idea that this one week had let him glimpse. He had done well on that test after not paying attention for a whole year, he had Ashley, he had been almost happy this week. If his father wasn't such a violent dick imagine how his life could be? He could imagine it and was pissed off that his father made it this way.

He stood up, fought waves of dizziness, held onto his dresser for support. When the dizziness passed he packed a bag of some clothes, his ipod, his school books, and he went downstairs. He didn't know where his father was and he didn't care. Just let him try and stop him. Just let him try. Craig shrugged into his jacket and slipped on his sneakers and left.

Joey was tiptoeing downstairs after kissing Angie goodnight when he heard a knock at his door, and then another more frantic knock.

"Coming!" he called, and opened the door. His eyes widened in surprise seeing Craig standing on his doorstep with a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Joey. Can I come in?"


	38. Chapter 38

Joey stared at the teenager on his doorstep, at his messy curly hair and black leather jacket and blue converse sneakers, his jeans hanging frayed over the sneakers. He had a bag over his shoulder and a look in his eyes that was hard to define. But in that look there was definitely something of being at the end of a rope.

Joey swung the door wide and let him in. Craig stood on the doorstep for a second longer, looking past Joey into the living room, and then he walked past him into the house. He set his bag down but stayed in his jacket and stood near the railing to the stairs, looking like he didn't know what to do.

"Hey, take your jacket off and stay awhile," Joey said, and watched Craig shrug out of his leather jacket and drape it over the back of a chair.

"Do you want something? Tea or soda or something?" Joey said, feeling like his mother in situations like this. The best thing to do was to throw food at it. Craig shook his head but he sat down at the kitchen table. Joey poured himself some soda, watched it fizz up to the top of the glass. He wondered what must have happened at Craig's house to bring him here.

"Listen, do you mind if I stay here for a few days?" Craig said, and Joey noticed how he wasn't looking at him. He was staring down at the table.

"Sure, that's fine, Craig. You can stay here as long as you need to,"

Craig watched T.V. for hours, silent. Joey cleaned up in the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, took out the garbage, and then watched T.V. with him. He felt almost afraid to talk to him, to pry, to ask him what had happened now. He knew what happened. He knew what had been happening. He supposed they didn't really need to talk about it.

It was getting later and later. Joey could barely keep his eyes open.

"Listen, I can fix up the spare room for you, or the couch…" he said, and Craig finally looked at him. He looked kind of tired, kind of like he'd given up.

"Yeah, whichever, it doesn't matter," he said, but Joey was thinking it did. The couch would seem impermanent, like he expected him not to stay long. He didn't know what he expected. But it seemed the spare room would seem more like a solution. He nodded and went upstairs to fix up the room enough for him to sleep there tonight.

It was done and he brought Craig up there. They both stood in the doorway and stared at the extra pillow and blanket Joey had found for the roll-away bed, the fresh sheets he'd put on it.

"Okay?" he said, putting a hand on Craig's shoulder, feeling the muscles in his shoulder tense up at his light touch. Craig stared at the bed with its fresh linen and felt the tears come to his eyes. He remembered the times he'd visited his mother and Joey, how nice Joey had always been to him, how he felt relaxed around him, like he could breathe.

"Yeah," he said, trying to fight the tears but he couldn't. Maybe he could stay here from now on since it would never end with his father, it would never end. The temper and the anger and the beatings, they wouldn't stop.

"Hey, it's okay," Joey said, seeing the tears, wanting to hug him but unsure. But he did anyway, he hugged him gently despite Craig's tense muscles, and when he wasn't looking at him the tears started in earnest. Joey patted his back and listened to the tears that turned into sobs, and he felt him shaking.

Craig pulled away suddenly, wiping his tears with one of his long sleeves, drawing a shuddery breath.

"Thanks, Joey," he said.


	39. Chapter 39

Craig laid on the cot with the fresh sheets in one of his T-shirts and flannel pajama pants. He'd packed some of his clothes, enough to get by. He didn't feel nervous about being here, about what his dad would think, or do. He didn't care anymore. That last beating was the last straw. He didn't care if he ever saw his father again. He hoped not to. He hoped Joey would let him stay here forever.

He'd been so stupid, so naïve, to think things would ever change. How could he think that? But he knew it was all tied up in denial and pretending that things were fine, that so much of his life had become a lie. He hoped the aches he felt now were the last of that. Once these bruises healed that would be it.

Resolved in himself to never go back to his father, even if he couldn't stay with Joey, he'd stay on the street, or with Sean or Jay, anywhere. Resolved, he fell asleep.

The next morning he didn't know where he was for a split second, the angle of the light and the height of the bed unfamiliar. Then it all flooded back, where he was and why. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, wondering if his father had the cops out after him. The cops could arrest him and drag him back to his father's house, he wouldn't stay.

He went downstairs, smelling coffee and pancakes. Joey was making breakfast, Angie was sitting at the table, her hair all crazy corkscrew curls, a little scowl on her face, but then she saw him. Her eyes widened and her face brightened.

"Craig!" she said, and he smiled. He didn't think she'd remember him.

"Hey, kid," he said.

"Want something to eat?" Joey asked him, and he shook his head. He wasn't hungry, and Joey noticed how skinny he was. He could see his bones through his skin.

"Want something, cereal at least?" he said, and Craig shrugged. Joey turned and grabbed cereal from the cabinet, and Angela looked up at him.

"What are you doing here? Are you staying?" she said, and Craig didn't know what to say. Joey turned then, a cereal bowl in one hand and a box of Frosted Flakes in the other.

"Yeah," Joey said, setting down the cereal bowl in front of Craig, "he's staying,"

Outside, the chill in the air making him button up his coat all the way, Craig called Ashley. He listened to the tiny ring and prayed that she'd answer. He watched his breath plume out in front of him.

"Hello?" she said, and he sighed in relief.

"Hi,"

"What's up?" she said, and he felt the tips of his fingers getting numb.

"I left. I'm at Joey's,"

A beat of silence, but he could see her face, the slight shock, the wide blue eyes.

"Oh my God, what happened?" she said.

"What always happens. My dad, he…I think things are fine, I think things are actually going to change for once, and then he screws it up. So I'm done, you know? I just, I can't keep thinking things are one way when they're another, I can't keep doing it. I'm going crazy, I feel like I'm going crazy. So I left."


End file.
